THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 

GIFT  OF 

J.  Lorenz  Sporer 


STUDIES   IN    MODERN 

GERMAN   LITERATURE 


SUDERMANN  •  HAUPTMANN  •  WOMEN  WRITERS  OF 
THE  NINETEENTH  CENTURY 


BY 


OTTO  HELLER,  PH.D. 

PROFESSOR  OF  THE  GERMAN  LANGUAGE  AND  LITERATURE  IN 
WASHINGTON  UNIVERSITY,  ST.  Louis 


GINN  &  COMPANY 

BOSTON  •  NEW  YORK  •  CHICAGO  •  LONDON 


COPYRIGHT,  1905 
BY  OTTO   HELLER 


ALL   RIGHTS   RESERVED 


55-5 


®l)c  &t&en*tira 

GINN  &  COMPANY-  CAM- 
BRIDGE- MASSACHUSETTS 


College 
Library 


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TO 
M.  S.  H. 

THIS  VOLUME  IS  AFFECTIONATELY 
DEDICATED 


PREFACE 

The  reader  of  these  studies  will  be  likely  to  feel  a 
certain  disappointment  at  finding  them  distinctly  unscho- 
lastic  in  form  as  well  as  in  substance.  Yet  a  frank  dec- 
laration of  the  author's  aim  may  vindicate  him  in  the 
judgment  even  of  those  who  have  themselves  dealt  with 
similar  subjects  in  a  more  academic  fashion.  His  car- 
dinal purpose  has  beenjp  draw  attention  afresh_tp  a 
phase  of  contemporary  culture  thus  far  not  sufficiently 
heeded  by  the  En^h^h^s^akmg..vfQrld.  He  has  written 
with  the  hope  of  cooperating,,  in-however  modest  a  meas- 
ure, with  abler  and  better  known  writers  who  are  striv- 
ing to  bring  the  German  and  the  American  into  more 
genuine  sympathy  with  each  other. 

The  usual  way  of  revealing  the  spirit  and  temper  of 
a  people  through  their  literature  is  by  an  interpretative 
survey  of  the  entire  output.  This  course,  if  applied  to 
modern  literatures,  involves  the  application  of  historical 
method  to  present-day  things  and  persons.  Many  critics 
have  deemed  their  powers  adequate  to  grapple  with  such 
an  enormous  difficulty.  But  although  they  have  had 
the  advantage  of  an  already  well-informed  reading  public, 
their  performances,  as  a  rule,  have  fallen  so  far  short 
of  their  aims  that  a  less  self-assured  reviewer  shrinks 
from  the  undertaking.  With  the  exception  of  one  or 


vi  PREFACE 

two  brilliant  achievements,  the  existing  works  of  the 
sort  render  at  most  the  limited  service  of  catalogues 
raisonn/s, — arranging  the  facts  with  different  degrees 
of  reliability,  and  tracing  with  more  or  less  fallibility  the 
general  drift  of  modern,  or,  better,  recent,  literature. 
For  an  alien  reader,  unacquainted  with  the  material 
under  discussion,  they  are  ill  adapted.  The  novice  natu- 
rally enough  is  much  more  interested  in  the  aesthetic 
and  ethical  maxims  of  leading  individuals  and  their  con- 
crete works  than  in  any  abstract  creeds  and  doctrines  of 
the  schools.  But  the  "history"  of  literature,  or  even  of 
single  literary  periods,  necessarily  depends  for  the  char- 
acterization of  eminent  writers  upon  condensed  synopses 
and  brief  and  usually  dogmatic  estimates,  while  for  the 
expounding  of  the  sociological  bases  from  which  liter- 
ary currents  ever  spring,  it  must  fall  back  on  comment 
which  for  the  greater  part  lies  beyond  the  ken  of  all 
but  the  specialist. 

Withal  the  historical  method  in  this  field  of  work  is 
hardly  safer  from  the  danger  of  subjective  treatment 
than  is  a  more  frankly  "impressionistic"  form  of  criti- 
cism. So  soon  as  the  "general"  reader  turns  for  con- 
firmation of  its  verdicts  to  the  full  bench  of  critical 
authority,  he  is  confused  by  a  diversity  of  opinion  which 
extends  even  to  the  estimates  of  the  master  spirits  of 
the  age.  Like  less  imposing  mortals,  the  historiogra- 
pher of  contemporary  events  cannot  get  away  from  his 
own  shadow. 


PREFACE  vii 

The  author  of  this  book,  not  unconscious  of  the  sub- 
jective warp  in  his  own  judgment,  has  considered  it  more 
to  his  purpose  to  show  in  a  series  of  unconstrained  mono- 
graphs the  chief  aspects  of  modern  German  literature 
than  to  construct  a  general  guidebook  for  that  subject. 
By  dint  of  detailed  analysis  he  has  sought  to  convey 
the  gist  of  the  two  leading  writers  even  to  such  of  his 
readers  as  might  be  debarred  from  first-hand  acquaint- 
ance with  them. 

Just  why  Hauptmann  and  Sudermann  were  chosen  to 
represent  the  modern  tendencies  in  the  drama  and  in 
fiction  is  stated  fully  in  the  early  part  of  the  first  sketch. 
The  paper  on  Women  Writers  of  the  Nineteenth  Century, 
although  broader  in  scope  and  consequently  less  intensive 
in  treatment,  was  joined  to  those  on  Sudermann  and 
Hauptmann  for  the  simple  reason  that  it  seemed  practi- 
cal to  select  out  of  the  fullness  of  the  available  material 
just  those  topics  which  for  people  outside  of  Germany 
possess  the  keenest  actuality.  Should  this  beginning 
prove  not  altogether  abortive,  it  is  the  author's  intention 
to  follow  up  the  present  volume  with  further  groups 
of  studies,  and  he  even  hopes  by  this  means  to  round 
out,  less  unmethodically  than  would  appear  at  first  blush, 
the  story  of  the  growth,  ascendency,  and,  if  signs  may 
be  believed,  the  decline,  of  naturalism  in  German  litera- 
ture under  the  new  Empire. 

As  for  the  style,  or,  should  that  be  a  misnomer,  the 
linguistic  make-up,  of  these  studies,  the  author,  alas, 


viii  PREFACE 

may  not  appease  the  sternly  disposed  among  his  readers 
with  rueful  promises  of  future  improvement.  Yet  the 
much-tried  leniency  extended  to  writers,  whether  alien 
born  or  not,  by  a  public  with  whom  this  form  of  gener- 
osity amounts  almost  to  a  national  fault,  relieves  him  of 
the  need  for  prolonged  apology. 

OTTO   HELLER 
MAY,  1905 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

HERMANN  SUDERMANN    i 

GERHART  HAUPTMANN 117 

WOMEN  WRITERS  OF  THE  TWENTIETH  CENTURY  .     .     .  229 

INDEX 297 


MODERN 
GERMAN   LITERATURE 

HERMANN  SUDERMANN 


HERMANN  SUDERMANN 

It  is  a  striking  coincidence  that  the  most  sig- 
nificant figures  in  the  history  of  German  literature 
have  appeared  upon  the  scene  two  by  two.  As  far 
back  as  the  ninth  century  we  find  side  by  side 
as  its  greatest  poetic  monuments  two  religious 
epopees  of  almost  equal  importance,  the  Heliand 
and  the  Evangelienbuch  ;  among  the  popular  epics 
of  the  Hohenstaufen  times  the  German  Iliad, 
the  Nibelungenhed,  is  matched  off  by  the  Lay  of 
Kudrun  as  by  a  German  Odyssey;  and  among 
the  chivalric  poems  of  the  same  period  the  pre- 
eminent works  of  Wolfram  von  Eschenbach  and 
Gottfried  von  Strassburg  lend  expression  to  dia- 
metrically opposite  views  of  life. 

After  the  literary  life  had  lain  in  catalepsy  for 
many  generations  it  was  reawakened  in  the  eigh- 
teenth century  through  apparently  antipodal  forces 
which  may  perhaps  be  most  fitly  brought  to  mind 
by  the  mention  of  Klopstock  and  Lessing.  Then 
the  dazzling  flood  of  light  and  life  which  at  the 
close  of  that  century  suffused  the  culture  of  Ger- 
many was  shed  from  the  twin  luminaries  Goethe 

3 


4  MODERN  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

and  Schiller.  For  the  people,  even  to-day  the 
name  of  Goethe  hardly  enjoys  the  same  lonely  emi- 
nence in  German  letters  as  does  Homer's  in  Greek 
or  Shakespeare's  in  English  literature.  Although 
in  the  ensuing  century  the  catalogue  of  the  poetae 
Germaniae  grew  to  an  unexampled  magnitude,  its 
best  known  names  at  successive  periods  stood  in 
contrasted  couples:  Kleist  and  Korner,  Uhland 
and  Hauff,  Heine  and  Lenau,  Geibel  and  Freilig- 
rath,  Grillparzer  and  Hebbel,  Reuter  and  Schef- 
fel,  Freytag  and  Keller,  Heyse  and  Spielhagen, 
Wilbrandt  and  Wildenbruch,  Marlitt  and  Werner, 
and,  if  the  truth  must  be  confessed,  Hacklander 
and  Gerstacker.  We  are  therefore  not  surprised 
to  find  ourselves  once  more  contrasting  two  leaders 
—  this  time  within  the  Moderne.  Now  that  the 
new  school  has  issued  from  its  turbulent  infancy 
it  has  become  legitimate  for  us  to  ask:  What 
have  these  new  writers  done  for  German  litera- 
ture, —  in  what  have  they  enriched  the  national 
art  and  culture?  To  the  great  mass  of  the  peo- 
ple the  literature  of  the  post-Bismarckian  era 
seems  epitomized  in  two  names, — Gerhart  Haupt- 
mann  and  Hermann  Sudermann,  for  undeniably 
these  two  have  exercised  the  greatest  formative 
influence  on  contemporaneous  German  letters. 


SUDERMANN  5 

Literary  criticism,  ever  inclined  to  juxtaposition 
and  antithesis,  has  quickly  adopted  the  dualism 
of  the  public  taste  in  its  attitude  toward  Suder- 
mann  and  Hauptmann. 

To  trace  out  the  artistic  and  intellectual  growth 
of  these  two  leading  spirits  as  manifest  in  their 
works  is  an  attractive  and  instructive  task.  To 
be  sure,  their  careers  show  in  the  main  features  a 
certain  external  similarity,  a  similarity  which  has 
been  strikingly  emphasized  through  the  circum- 
stance that  they  have  been  simultaneously  swept 
onward  to  the  very  pinnacle  of  fame.  Yet  though 
their  great  successes  have  very  nearly  tallied  in 
point  of  time  and  measure,  one  can  scarcely  im- 
agine two  more  dissimilar  natures.  Scherer's 
ingenious  but  somewhat  strained  theory  which 
accounts  for  the  main  tendencies  of  German  liter- 
ature through  the  underlying  competition  of  rival 
forces,  a  masculine  and  a  feminine,  is  well  illus- 
trated in  these  two  writers.  Hauptmann,  high- 
strung,  responding  with  nervous  sensibility  to  the 
mildest  stimulus,  is  possessed  of  a  reproductive, 
feminine  talent,  a  talent  raised,  to  be  sure,  to  the 
power  of  genius ;  whereas  Sudermann  is  a  robust 
masculine  personality  made  of  coarser  stuff,  not 
subtle  enough  to  penetrate  the  inmost  privacies 


6  MODERN   GERMAN   LITERATURE 

of  the  human  heart.  Withal  he  is  not  the  lesser 
artist,  for  to  offset  Hauptmann's  fineness  of  per- 
ception he  has  the  advantage  of  a  stout  self-confi- 
dence and  broad  knowledge  of  the  inner  and  outer 
facts  of  life. 

The  fame  of  Hermann  Sudermann  is  no  longer 
confined  to  his  own  country,  since  most  of  his 
novels  have  been  translated  into  several  languages 
and  a  number  of  his  plays  performed  in  the  more 
dignified  theaters  on  both  sides  of  the  Atlantic. 
His  successes,  won  in  the  face  of  a  determined 
opposition  both  from  the  old  school  of  writers  and 
the  new, — since  neither  will  acknowledge  Suder- 
mann as  of  their  own, — have  been  phenomenal,  and, 
if  the  question  can  be  decided  by  the  evidence  of 
publishers'  and  library  statistics  and  the  frequency 
of  Sudermann's  plays  in  the  repertory  of  leading 
theaters,  it  may  be  safely  assumed  that  his  present 
great  popularity  is  in  no  danger  of  decline  in  the 
near  future.  This  popularity  is  unquestionably 
connected  with  the  fact  that  in  each  of  his  works 
a  living  issue  is  sharply  defined.  Sudermann  is 
above  all  things  a  writer  with  a  distinct  pedagog- 
ical task  to  which  he  brings  a  complete  intellec- 
tual and  moral  equipment.  His  bold  and  positive 
utterances  have  awakened  a  ringing  echo,  because 


SUDERMANN  7 

they  have  imperatively  called  the  attention  of  the 
world  to  social  and  intellectual  undercurrents  of 
extraordinary  persistency  and  unknown  power. 

To  determine  one's  attitude  toward  the  upset- 
ting doctrine  preached  by  Sudermann,  with  the 
approval  of  a  large  portion  of  the  best  lettered 
and  intellectually  most  fastidious  of  living  nations, 
would  seem  to  be  almost  a  duty  for  the  thoughtful. 
If  the  code  of  ethics  he  accepts  and  proclaims  is 
asserted  with  justice  to  be  a  source  of  peril  to  the 
vested  social  order  that  most  of  us  would  defend, 
is  it  not  the  part  of  wisdom  to  measure  the  dan- 
ger by  looking  the  enemy  manfully  in  the  face  ? 
New  thoughts  are  not  killed  off  when  fine  indig- 
nation virtuously  conspires  to  smother  them  in 
their  cradle.  In  a  free  country  it  is  worth  while  to 
examine  new  teachings.  As  for  those  of  Suder- 
mann, most  Americans  will  gasp  at  their  import 
and  unhesitatingly  reject  them,  yet  few  readers,  if 
they  study  his  books  to  a  purpose,  will  refuse  their 
respect  to  the  sincerity  and  moral  earnestness  of 
the  man. 

It  shall  be  the  aim  of  this  chapter  to  discuss  the 
works  thus  far  produced  by  Hermann  Sudermann, 
— to  review  their  chief  contents  and  trace  out  their 
ethics,  marking  with  heavier  lines  those  features 


8  MODERN  GERMAN   LITERATURE 

which  have  divided  the  opinion  of  the  German 
public.  But  since  a  fruit  of  experience  is  caution, 
the  execution  of  this  plan  needs  to  be  preceded 
by  a  word  of  explanation.  People  often  do  the 
critic  the  unintentional  honor  of  holding  him 
accountable  for  the  views  of  the  eminent  writers 
whom  he  expounds,  only  because,  out  of  sheer 
respect  for  his  readers  as  well  as  his  subject,  he 
modestly  abstains  from  the  promulgation  of  any 
personal  theory  of  life  that  he  may  hold.  To  all 
eventual  charges  of  heresy  and  sedition  the  defense 
therefore  enters  a  general  plea  of  "  not  guilty." 
The  writer  does  not  pose  as  Hermann  Sudermann 
nor  as  his  keeper.  He  does  not  necessarily  cham- 
pion Sudermann's  ethics  simply  because  he  does 
not  consider  it  his  business  forever  to  make  war 
upon  them.  It  is  enough  for  him  to  sound  this 
rich  personality,  to  communicate  its  message,  and 
to  furnish  thereby,  if  he  may  allow  himself  the 
hope,  some  food  for  serious  reflection. 

The  German  people  have  displayed  in  their 
literature  as  a  whole  a  certain  severity  of  temper. 
Where  this  literature  runs  in  a  humorous  vein 
it  passes  easily  into  rough  persiflage  and  cutting 
satire.  Satire  is  the  dominant  note  not  only  in 
the  bulky  controversial  literature  of  the  sixteenth 


SUDERMANN  9 

century  but  also  in  a  not  inconsiderable  portion 
of  the  classic  writings  of  the  eighteenth.  Les- 
sing's  critical  activity,  sublimely  constructive 
though  it  is,  is  pervaded  by  rankling  animosity 
against  every  form  of  intellectual  sloth  and 
artistic  barrenness.  The  youthful  Goethe  directs 
his  boyishly  harsh  censure  against  the  prevailing 
vices  of  philistinism  and  hypocrisy.  Schiller,  in 
his  youth  still  more  vehement  than  either  of  his 
two  great  predecessors,  hurls  bowlderlike  invec- 
tive against  the  existing  political  and  social  order 
of  things.  The  Romantics,  priding  themselves  on 
their  greater  delicacy  of  feeling,  seek  to  refine 
satire  into  the  gentler  art  of  irony.  But  even 
among  them  it  never  dies  out  in  its  poignant  form. 
In  the  period  of  reaction  "  Young  Germany " 
resorts  to  merciless  scorn  as  the  only  weapon 
available  against  despotism.  Ludwig  Borne  and 
Heinrich  Heine  are  the  greatest  satirists  of 
"Young  Germany."  They  deal  havoc  differently, 
—  the  shafts  of  Borne's  sarcasm  hit  and  pierce, 
while  those  of  Heine's  touch  and  poison.  Later 
on  Friedrich  Theodor  Vischer,  the  famous  writer 
on  aesthetics,  subjects  his  German  countrymen  to 
Aristophanic  censure  in  his  Faust,  the  Third 
Part  of  the  Tragedy.  And  that  entire  faction 


10  MODERN   GERMAN   LITERATURE 

who  are  commonly  designated  as  "  Youngest 
Germany,"  or  Die  Moderne,  are  fain,  in  order  it 
may  be  to  facilitate  their  analysis,  to  saturate 
the  actualities  of  modern  life  with  a  corrosive 
mockery.  Although  a  certain  realism  usually 
serves  as  the  basis  of  satire,  it  is  the  nature  of 
satire  to  overstep  the  literal  truth.  In  order  to 
show  up  a  thing  as  deserving  our  contempt  or 
ridicule  authors  present  a  distorted  picture  of  it. 
Thus  the  realism  which  obtains  in  caricature  is 
one  which  depends  less  on  correspondence  to 
facts  than  on  suggestive  association.  The  satir- 
ist, be  his  love  of  truth  never  so  great,  seeks  not 
to  present  things  just  as  they  really  appear  to 
him  from  without,  but  to  draw  a  convincing  like- 
ness of  that  which  they  suggest  to  his  inward 
experience.  This  object  he  achieves  by  exagger- 
ating or  overaccentuating  their  sinister  or  mean 
aspects.  He  retouches  the  picture  of  reality,  but 
never  for  the  purpose  of  embellishment  or  ideal- 
ization. These  distinctions  it  is  necessary  to  hold 
fast  in  order  to  understand  why  the  most  distin- 
guished living  satirist,  —  Hermann  Sudermann, 
—  although  he  has  been  so  often  called  modern 
from  top  to  toe,  is  at  most  a  half-hearted  "  realist." 
He  does  not  conform  to  the  naturalist's  supreme 


SUDERMANN  1 1 

demand  that  the  writer  must  not  permit  his 
personality,  and  above  all  things  his  philosophy, 
to  shine  through  his  work.  On  the  contrary,  it 
is  not  at  all  difficult  to  get  a  satisfying  glimpse 
of  the  man  Sudermann  through  the  medium  of 
his  writings.  He  is  a  typical  modern  man,  city 
bred,  sagacious,  and  sophisticated  to  a  degree, 
knowing  the  world  so  thoroughly  that  few  things 
in  it  can  baffle,  puzzle,  or  even  surprise  him. 
Such,  I  think,  is  the  first  impression  formed  of 
him.  Next  we  observe  the  open-mindedness  of 
the  man,  the  broad  liberality  of  his  sympathies. 
Soon  we  discover  that  his  cosmopolitanism  has 
in  no  way  denationalized  him  or,  as  is  apt  to  be 
the  case,  made  him  an  utter  worldling.  For  with 
his  world-citizenship  is  coupled  a  strong  family 
feeling  for  the  German  land  and  people  and 
a  deep  religious  sense.  Sudermann,  in  these 
days  of  national  self-assertion  and  spiritual  path- 
seeking,  is  neither  a  scoffer  nor  an  indifferent. 
His  skepticism  does  not  assail  any  noble  human 
ideals,  for  by  these  he  is  himself  deeply  inspired ; 
but  he  is  distrustful  of  men's  motives,  and  espe- 
cially of  the  stereotyped  moral  notions  unthink- 
ingly accepted  by  one  generation  from  the  other. 
Morality  —  one  may  so  interpret  Sudermann  — 


12  MODERN   GERMAN   LITERATURE 

must  be  earned,  not  inherited;  personally  differ- 
entiated, not  typified.  How  a  person  wins  or 
loses  his  moral  salvation  is  the  problem  whose 
fascination  sets  Sudermann  to  work,  for,  although 
a  doubter  by  temperament,  he  clearly  perceives  in 
human  nature  latent  moral  forces  which  if  set  free 
will  let  it  rise  above  the  stale,  warmed-over  moral- 
ity of  workaday  life.  It  follows  naturally  that  a 
writer  of  this  temper  should  be  concerned  with 
a  dual  purpose,  —  rudely  to  shake  the  decaying 
structure  of  social  morality  now  resting  largely  on 
hollow  conventions  and  compromises,  but  at  the 
same  time  to  stay  the  total  collapse  of  society 
and  invigorate  it  with  his  own  sustaining  aspira- 
tions. As  his  attempts  toward  these  ends  are  not 
wholly  free  from  theatricalities,  the  unthinking 
complaint  that  Sudermann  is  a  poseur  has  passed 
into  the  stock  in  trade  of  contemporary  criticism. 
He  does  not  parade  his  personality,  he  is  simply 
not  quite  artist  enough  always  to  hide  it.  To  be 
sure,  a  few  of  his  characters,  notably  Count  Trast 
in  Die  Ehre,  have  a  strong  affinity  with  Suder- 
mann himself.  Yet  they  were  never  intended  for 
self-portraits.  In  fact,  not  caring  to  admit  the 
throng  into  his  intimacy,  he  rather  barricades 
himself  defiantly  behind  his  works.  From  this 


SUDERMANN  13 

position  he  falls  savagely  upon  that  painted,  slink- 
ing, day-shunning  society  which  for  him  is  the 
object  of  deep  detestation  and  drags  it  from  the 
privacy  of  its  nocturnal  haunts  into  the  pitiless 
glare  of  the  sunlit  street.  Sudermann,  then,  is 
and  can  be  no  dreamy  minstrel  nor  yet  an  utterer 
of  the  "lyric  cry."  He  is  a  calculating  man  of 
action,  a  self-conscious  altruist  agitated  by  deep- 
est sympathy  for  all  souls  that  are  in  distress  and 
by  implacable  hatred  of  every  form  of  tyranny. 
Fortunately  this  determined  judge  and  resolute 
avenger  is  also  an  artist  of  uncommon  power. 
His  plays  belong  probably,  his  novels  beyond  a 
doubt,  to  the  best  that  German  literature  has  to 
show  in  these  genres. 

Before  Hermann  Sudermann  leaped  into  fame 
through  the  performance  of  Die  Ehre  (at  the  Les- 
sing  Theater  in  Berlin,  November  27,  1889)  he  had 
struggled  with  hardships  in  obscurity,  support- 
ing himself  variously  as  a  private  tutor,  journalist, 
and  story- writer  for — family  magazines !  He  was 
born  in  1857,  the  son  of  a  brewer  in  a  small  vil- 
lage of  East  Prussia,  where  brewers  are  not  ex 
officio  millionaires.  Sudermann's  father,  in  greatly 
straitened  circumstances,  contrived  to  maintain  the 
talented  boy  at  school  with  a  brief  interruption, 


14  MODERN   GERMAN   LITERATURE 

during  which  the  fourteen-year-old  Hermann 
shared  by  force  of  poverty  the  early  fate  of  Ibsen 
and  Fontane  in  being  apprenticed  to  an  apothe- 
cary. Returning  to  his  books,  Sudermann  was 
graduated  from  the  Gymnasium  at  Tilsit,  and 
then  undertook  work  in  philology  and  history  at 
the  University  of  Konigsberg.  In  1877  he  came 
to  Berlin  to  continue  his  studies  and  has  since 
then  made  the  Prussian  capital  his  permanent 
home.  His  importance  as  a  leader  in  the  modern 
literary  movement  dates  properly  from  the  year 
1887,  when,  besides  a  collection  of  short  stories 
entitled  Im  Zwielicht  ("In  the  Gloaming"),  he 
produced  his  first  work  of  real  significance,  the 
novel  Frau  Sorge  ( "Dame  Care"),  which  revealed 
him  at  once  as  a  writer  of  exceptional  force  and 
skill  and  also  as  a  mature  philosopher. 

"  Dame  Care  "  is  a  somber  book.  The  hero  is 
a  man  who  has  led  a  joyless  existence.  He  has 
never  been  young,  since  upon  his  early  childhood 
wretched  parental  strife  had  sprinkled  its  poison- 
ing mildew.  The  beginning  reads  not  very  un- 
like Reuter's  great  book,  Ut  mine  Stromtid;  but 
how  different  is  Reuter's  noble  portrait  of  Carl 
Havermann  from  the  picture  drawn  of  Paul  May- 
hbfer's  father,  the  East  Prussian  squire,  who, 


SUDERMANN  1 5 

uprooted  from  his  easy  mode  of  life,  thenceforth 
spins  out  his  days  in  apathetic  stupor!  Young 
Paul,  who  assumes  all  the  obligations  of  his  bank- 
rupt father,  is  not  only  borne  down  with  the 
weight  of  excessive  exertions,  but  burdened  also 
with  the  still  heavier  responsibility  for  the  moral 
safety  of  his  family.  After  the  death  of  his  mother 
no  ray  of  light  ever  pierces  the  veil  which,  woven 
by  Dame  Care,  is  drawing  closer  and  closer  round 
the  slow,  shy,  and  rather  unwinsome  boy.  Cheer- 
lessly, almost  mechanically,  he  performs  his  mo- 
notonous work,  in  order  to  provide  comfort  for 
the  father  now  sinking  into  dotage  and  the  reck- 
less twin  sisters.  Success  crowns  Paul's  labors; 
but  no  sooner  has  the  lost  credit  of  his  name  been 
recovered  through  untiring  labor  than  it  is  again 
disgraced  in  a  still  more  painful  manner.  To 
repair  the  damaged  honor  of  his  sisters  is  a 
sacred  debt  which  Paul  owes  to  the  memory  of 
his  mother.  After  summoning  up  in  vain  the  full 
measure  of  his  moral  heroism  for  an  appeal  to 
the  seducers,  he  intimidates  the  cowards  with  a 
brutal  threat  and  forces  them  to  make  good  their 
promises  of  marriage.  But  after  this  one  resolute, 
blood-cleansing  deed  he  relapses  into  dull,  ox- 
like  resignation.  His  business  prospers  more  and 


1 6  MODERN   GERMAN   LITERATURE 

more,  but  to  no  purpose,  since  now  the  sisters  are 
married,  and  Paul  is  no  longer  buoyed  up  by  his 
guardianship.  He  is  enslaved  by  a  false,  a  cheer- 
less conception  of  life.  It  must  be  said  that  the 
road  by  which  he  ultimately  reaches  liberty  takes 
a  most  incongruous  course,  for  it  leads  through 
the  penitentiary.  In  order  to  preserve  the  prop- 
erty of  a  neighbor  from  the  incendiary  hands  of 
his  degenerate  father,  Paul  sets  his  own  premises 
on  fire,  and  having  thus  reduced  himself  to  pov- 
erty, he  must  in  addition  atone  for  his  act  by  two 
years  of  penal  servitude.  When  at  last  he  steps 
from  his  prison  the  love  of  a  true  woman  awaits 
him  at  the  gates,  seeking  him  out  with  a  happi- 
ness that  he  had  been  too  awkward  to  pursue. 
This  solution  of  the  psychologic  problem  is  not 
satisfying  because  it  does  not  appear  as  inevitable. 
From  the  gray  web  of  Phantom  Care  why  did  not 
Paul  extricate  himself  for  good,  when,  pistol  in 
hand,  he  set  his  face  against  the  defilers  of 
his  home  ?  Sundry  other  technical  objections 
might  be  raised  against  Sudermann's  first  famous 
novel ;  but  in  spite  of  its  faults,  Frau  Sorge  is 
among  the  noblest  works  of  modern  German  fic- 
tion. This  is  not  saying  that  it  is  a  book  to  be 
recommended  without  caution.  As  a  keen  and 


SUDERMANN  17 

fearless  scrutinizer,  Sudermann  naturally  draws 
into  the  sphere  of  his  novels  some  discussions 
not  intended  for  the  ears  of  the  "young  miss," 
or  of  her  worthy  progenitor  utterly  indisposed  to 
endure  in  fiction  the  undeniable  facts  of  life. 
The  careful  parent  does  not  always  remember 
that  the  young  person  in  question  has  already  a 
considerable  library  of  her  own.  Sudermann  is  not 
a  competitor  of  Mmes.  Wildermuth,  Polko,  and 
Heimburg  in  Germany,  or  in  America  of  the  manu- 
facturers of  such  brummagem  historical  fiction  as 
Richard  Carvel  and  The  Crisis,  or  in  England  of 
the  writers  of  such  unliterary  trash  as  The  Pris- 
oner of  Zenda.  Of  this,  new  evidence  is  furnished 
in  Die  Geschwister  ("  Brothers  and  Sisters  "),  two 
tales  published  in  1888,  in  both  of  which  the 
same  problem  is  handled.  In  the  first  story, 
Geschichte  einer  stillen  Muhle  ("  History  of  a 
Lonely  Mill"),  one  brother  loves  the  wife  of  the 
other.  The  tragedy  is  heightened  by  the  deep 
attachment  the  wrongdoer  feels  for  the  wronged, 
and  it  ends  with  their  common  death.  The  second 
story  deals  with  the  growing  passion  of  a  girl  for 
her  sister's  husband;  for  one  moment  she  gives 
room  to  a  wish  for  the  invalid  sister's  death,  and 
for  this  platonic  crime  she  voluntarily  pays  with 


1 8  MODERN   GERMAN   LITERATURE 

her  own  life.  The  right  of  untrammeled  liberty,  it 
will  be  noticed,  is  not  asserted.  The  moral  code 
is  sustained  by  the  tragic  issue  as  firmly  as  in 
Goethe's  Die  Wahlverwandtschaften,  to  which  the 
story  bears  a  certain  inner  resemblance.  But  no 
insipid  matrimonial  amity  is  preached  when  the 
ill-starred  heroine  Olga  speaks  in  defiance  of  the 
convention  as  follows :  "  I  should  love  differently 
from  you  two;  I  should  not  be  faint-hearted;  I 
should  not  sneak  away  as  you  do  saying, '  'T  is  bet- 
ter thus.'  I  should  subdue  her  with  the  fire  of  my 
soul,  vanquish  her  with  the  strength  of  my  arms. 
I  should  snatch  her  to  my  breast  and  carry  her  off, 
no  matter  whither,  out  into  the  night,  into  the 
desert,  if  no  sun  were  willing  to  shine  for  us,  no 
house  to  offer  its  shelter.  I  would  rather  starve 
with  her  by  the  roadside  than  ask  the  slightest 
favor  of  the  world  that  would  separate  us.  This 
is  what  I  should  do  if  I  were  you,  Robert.  And 
if  I  were  she,  I  should  throw  myself  on  your  breast 
laughing,  and  say,  '  Come,  I  will  beg  for  you  when 
you  are  without  bread,  my  lap  shall  be  your  couch 
when  you  are  without  a  bed,  your  wounds  I  will 
bathe  with  my  tears,  a  thousand  deaths  I  will  suf- 
fer for  you  and  thank  the  Lord  that  He  permits 
me.'  See,  Robert,  this  is  my  idea  of  love." 


SUDERMANN  19 

Reserving  Sudermann's  epoch-marking  play 
Die  Ehre  ("  Honor ")  for  discussion  in  connec- 
tion with  the  other  dramas,  we  turn  to  his  next 
novel. 

Der  Katzensteg  (in  the  English  translation 
"Regina")  (1889)  is  a  great  book  in  nearly  every 
sense.  Among  its  many  distinctive  merits  it 
teaches  us  to  appreciate  a  profound  historic  sense 
in  this  true  son  of  the  modern  era.  The  action 
is  laid  in  the  year  1814.  With  a  distrustful  eye 
Sudermann  subjects  that  glorious  chapter  of  Ger- 
man history  to  a  thorough  scrutiny.  Unbribed 
by  the  verdict  of  patriotic  tradition  or  by  his  own 
strong  instinctive  love  of  his  country,  he  scans 
the  records  of  the  past.  And  he  finds  his  mis- 
givings confirmed.  A  sad  disillusionment  indeed, 
and  a  heavy  blow  for  many  a  patriotic  soul.  "  That 
year,"  —  he  says,  as  a  result  of  his  unprejudiced 
investigation,  — "  that  year  whose  name  rings  in 
the  ears  of  us  children  of  a  later  day  like  one  grand 
harmony  woven  of  paeans,  organ  peals,  and  the 
clanging  of  bells,  witnessed  more  violence  and 
crime  than  any  other  year  before  or  since." 

As  has  been  said,  the  tragedy  is  brought  to  a 
head  in  the  glorious  year  1814,  but  it  was  engen- 
dered fully  seven  years  before.  In  1807  Napoleon 


20  MODERN   GERMAN   LITERATURE 

had  subdued  Prussia;  the  Baron  von  Schranden, 
a  Prussian  nobleman  who  from  his  mother's 
breast  had  imbibed  Polish  sympathies,  now  seeing 
in  the  rising  star  of  Bonaparte  a  gleam  of  hope 
for  his  beloved  Poland,  at  the  prompting1  of  this 
hope  becomes  guilty  of  high  treason.  A  French 
detachment  being  quartered  in  his  castle,  Schran- 
den forces  the  fifteen-year-old  Regina  Hackelberg, 
as  an  obedient  tool  of  his  felony,  to  guide  the 
French  troops  over  the  so-called  Katzensteg  ("cat's 
trail  ")  up  to  the  rear  of  the  Prussians.  These,  sud- 
denly attacked,  are  massacred  to  a  man.  When  the 
facts  come  out,  a  savage  wrath  rises  up  against 
the  baron.  His  castle  is  stormed  and  burned  by 
the  furious  peasants.  On  his  crumbling  manor 
he  lives  henceforth  in  dismal  isolation.  Mantraps 
and  spring  guns  barely  safeguard  his  life ;  from 
all  communion  with  men  he  is  banished.  He  is 
an  outlawed  man.  Nobody  will  or  dares  work  for 
him,  and  his  estates  are  of  no  use  to  him.  But 
two  more  victims  are  doomed  through  his  crime : 
Regina,  who  remains  with  the  baron,  his  drudge 
and  mistress,  and  Schranden's  son  Boleslav,  at 
school  in  Konigsberg,  who  finds  himself  suddenly 
avoided  by  all  his  associates.  He  leaves  the 
school  as  soon  as  he  learns  the  reason,  and  under 


SUDERMANN  2 I 

an  assumed  name  enters  the  corps  of  LUtzow's 
famous  volunteers  in  the  warfare  against  the 
French.  But  the  curse  has  fastened  itself  to  him. 
The  arrival  of  a  former  chum  causes  him  to 
decamp  for  fear  of  discovery.  He  next  joins  a 
militia  regiment,  is  wounded  in  a  most  hazardous 
war  adventure,  held  prisoner,  and  at  last,  when 
peace  has  been  made,  returns  to  his  home.  At 
this  point  begins  the  story  of  Regina.  Boleslav's 
father  has  just  died,  and  the  villagers  refuse  de- 
cent burial  to  his  body.  Arriving  on  the  scene, 
Boleslav  finds  Regina  in  the  act  of  digging  a 
grave.  Schooled  in  rigid  self-discipline,  and  in 
his  misfortune  upheld  by  unflinching  self-respect 
and  a  lofty  sense  of  duty,  he  sees  in  Regina  only 
the  vile  accomplice  of  the  wretch  for  whom  he 
has  come  to  perform  the  last  filial  office.  He 
accordingly  treats  her  with  rude  contempt.  His 
comrades  in  arms  have  come  at  his  call  to  help 
him  inter  his  father,  but  they  leave  him  in  ominous 
silence  as  soon  as  the  business  is  over.  Then 
Boleslav  is  brought  face  to  face  with  the  awfulness 
of  his  future  fate :  "And  his  hand  will  be  against 
every  man,  and  every  man's  hand  against  him." 
While  waiting  to  decide  about  his  future,  he  tol- 
erates Regina  and  allows  her  to  minister  to  his 


22  MODERN   GERMAN   LITERATURE 

wants,  which  she  does  with  a  brutelike  attach- 
ment. Soon  touched  by  her  supreme  self-oblivion, 
he  feels  himself  more  and  more  attracted  by  the 
native  charm  of  the  strange  creature,  who  through 
self-surrendering  obedience  was  beguiled  into 
shame  and  crime  in  early  years,  and  yet  has  pre- 
served intact  her  truest  character,  unswerving 
loyalty  and  chaste  dignity.  Quelling  his  waken- 
ing passion  for  her,  Boleslav  throws  himself  into 
his  work.  Intrepid  he  stands,  in  single-handed 
defiance  of  the  patriotic  mob.  Patriots  indeed 
they  who  show  their  teeth  and  foam  at  the  mouth 
in  their  frantic  eagerness  to  punish  the  third,  nay 
even  the  fourth,  generation  for  every  affront  offered 
their  hollow  idols !  A  true  hero,  he  routs  the 
cowardly  pack,  and  strives  and  strains  and  slaves 
to  win  back  his  own  in  the  teeth  of  persecution, 
until  the  blast  of  the  war  trumpet  is  heard  once 
more.  Without  a  moment's  hesitation,  as  though 
it  were  the  only  natural  course  of  action,  he  throws 
to  the  winds  the  fruit  of  his  herculean  efforts, 
responds  to  the  call  of  his  country,  and  after  bury- 
ing Regina,  who  has  laid  down  her  life  for  his,  dies 
an  obscure  but  glorious  death  for  his  fatherland. 
It  is  readily  seen,  even  from  this  bare  outline, 
that  Der  Katzensteg  is  strongly  touched  up  with 


SUDERMANN  23 

romantic  tints;  a  fuller  study  would  make  it 
equally  evident  that  in  spite  of  the  thrilling  in- 
terest in  the  story  as  such,  and  the  gusto  with 
which  the  figures  and  their  setting  are  treated 
on  their  own  account,  Der  Katzensteg  is  also  a 
vigorous  sermon,  as  all  of  Sudermann's  books  are 
in  their  last  analysis.  The  theme  of  this  sermon 
is  patriotism,  true  and  false.  Only  once  again, 
in  the  one-act  play  Teja,  does  Sudermann  glorify 
the  genuine  patriotic  spirit.  There,  as  in  Der 
Katzensteg,  patriotism  appears  but  as  a  necessary 
phase  of  the  categorical  imperative  which  dictates 
the  conduct  of  the  hero.  What  greater  contrast 
could  be  imagined  than  that  between  Boleslav, 
who,  martyred  by  the  gross  injustice  of  society, 
upholds  and  defends  the  sacredness  of  his  manly 
duties  towards  that  same  society,  and  Haupt- 
mann's  self-seeking,  self-losing  Master  Heinrich, 
who  sacrifices  all  society,  even  his  own  family, 
to  the  chimera  of  a  duty  towards  himself  or  his 
fancied  genius. 

Sudermann's  next  novel  is  neither  romantic 
nor  is  it  a  "  novel  with  a  purpose."  The  breezy 
story  of  lolanthes  Hochzeit  ("  The  Wedding  of 
lolanthe  ")  (1892)  is  generally  underrated,  largely 
because  narrative  art  is  not  in  itself  sufficiently 


24  MODERN   GERMAN   LITERATURE 

appreciated  by  Germans  (nor,  for  the  matter  of 
that,  by  Americans).  Readers  are  apt  to  value  a 
story  wholly  for  the  incident ;  and  in  this  respect 
lolanthes  Hochzeit  does  not  offer  anything  that  is 
striking.  It  tells  how  a  grim  old  bachelor  makes 
a  belated  and  abortive  attempt  at  matrimony.  He 
is  no  sooner  married  than  he  is  so  panic-stricken 
at  the  changed  aspect  of  life  that  on  the  evening 
of  his  wedding  day  he  solemnly  betroths  his  newly 
acquired  wife  to  the  other  man  in  the  case;  and 
then  he  rubs  his  hands  in  Mephistophelian  glee 
over  his  singular  disencumberment  from  the  rose- 
ate chains  so  irksome  in  the  very  anticipation. 
Surely  the  plot  is  slight.  Yet  Sudermann  has 
succeeded  in  fashioning  out  of  the  meager  story 
a  cabinet  piece  of  vernacular  art  worthy  of  a 
Fritz  Reuter.  The  right  note  has  been  happily 
struck  from  the  first  and  it  is  sustained  to  the  end. 
The  story  is  fairly  redolent  with  the  racy  savor  of 
provincial  life  in  the  north  of  Germany.  Suder- 
mann has  never  been  excelled  in  his  portraiture 
of  the  most  singular  product  of  East  Prussia; 
I  mean  the  Krautjunker  or  country  squire,  a 
puzzling  mixture  of  thick-headedness  and  jovial 
humor,  generosity  and  crude  bigotry,  caste  conceit 
and  patriotic  devotion,  materialism  and  stanch 


SUDERMANN  25 

belief  in  ideals.  This  novel  fully  reveals  along 
with  Sudermann's  well-known  critical  tendency 
the  dramatic  bent  of  his  narrative.  Somewhat 
surprising  from  this  master  of  scathing  sarcasm 
is  the  subtle  irony  that  hovers  over  the  narrative 
like  an  ethereal  gauze. 

In  judging  of  Sudermann's  next  novel,  Es  War 
("Once  upon  a  Time")  (1894),  which  in  some 
respects  is  inferior  to  "  Dame  Care"  and  "  Regina," 
it  ought  to  be  remembered  that  it  was  written 
fully  ten  years  before  publication.  It  too,  never- 
theless, gives  ample  evidence  of  the  author's 
extraordinary  faculties  and  forces,  which  have 
contributed  in  equal  shares  to  its  excellence. 
For  the  better  understanding  of  the  book,  a  limi- 
tation needs  now  to  be  put  on  the  statement  that 
Sudermann  is  a  pessimist.  Pessimism  appears 
plainly  enough  in  his  analysis  and  diagnosis  of 
things,  yet  far  is  it  from  him  to  look  into  the 
future  through  smoke-bedimmed  spectacles.  He 
does  not  view  the  moral  attainments  of  the  living 
generation  with  contentment.  But  his  belief  in 
the  transmission  of  character  is  not  that  of  the 
determinist,  and  he  does  not  believe  uncondition- 
ally in  the  power  of  the  past  over  the  future.  A 
guilt  committed  cannot  be  undone,  to  be  sure, 


26  MODERN   GERMAN   LITERATURE 

yet  a  strong  will  may  come  out  victorious  in  the 
fight  with  the  threatening  consequences  of  past 
error.  This,  however,  cannot  be  through  remorse, 
so  Sudermann  teaches.  Like  Nietzsche,  he  casts 
sterile  repentance  overboard.  The  world  can  be 
moved  not  by  tears  but  by  deeds.  Only  it  is 
needful  —  and  this  is  the  central  lesson  of  the 
novel  Es  War  —  that  a  man  break  with  his  guilty 
past  irrevocably  by  unqualified,  fearless,  and 
unsparing  avowal.  In  Es  lebe  das  Leben  ("The 
Joy  of  Living"),  act  iii,  scene  vii,  Richard, 
in  his  perplexity,  exclaims :  "  Ah,  Beate  I  Truth, 
Truth !  To  be  once  more  at  peace  with  oneself ! 
For  the  bare  privilege  of  having  a  conviction  I 
would  throw  down  joyfully  everything,  my  paltry 
private  existence,  my  life  —  everything."  A  man 
must  make  a  clean  sweep  of  his  past  if  he  would 
recover  the  mastery  of  his  fate.  Not  until  the 
hero  of  Es  War  learns  to  understand  this  can 
he  redeem  himself,  make  good  the  past  as  far  as 
that  is  ever  possible,  and  become  again  an  active 
man.  Leo  Sellenthin  is  one  of  those  broad-chested 
giants,  ruthlessly  egoistic  and  full  of  go,  whom 
we  meet  frequently  in  Sudermann's  works.  An 
affair  of  honor  in  which  his  part  has  been  that  of 
the  doubly  guilty  offender  and  slayer  takes  him 


SUDERMANN  27 

to  America,  whence  he  is  drawn  back  by  the  char- 
acteristic attachment  of  the  East  Elbian  to  his 
native  heath.  At  home  again,  he  meets  the  com- 
panion of  his  past  wrong,  now  the  wife  of  his 
most  devoted  friend.  Leo  himself  is  responsible 
for  the  ill-fated  union,  for  when  Felicitas'  present 
husband,  disquieted  by  rumors,  once  put  the 
direct  question,  Leo  lied  away  his  liaison  with 
her.  Now  he  is  lured  back  by  the  unprincipled 
wretch,  loses  his  poise  and  self-respect  entirely, 
and,  in  his  own  words,  is  fast  going  "  to  the  dogs," 
till  finally  the  woman,  exasperated  at  his  resolve 
that  they  shall  die  together,  precipitates  an  expla- 
nation between  Leo  and  her  wronged  husband. 
The  issue  does  not  result  in  the  usual  exchange 
of  pistol  formalities  so  gratifying  to  the  logic  of 
the  habitual  novel  reader,  for  Ulrich,  with  a  mag- 
nanimity quite  unbecoming  a  German  gentleman 
and  an  officer,  pardons  his  "  friend."  On  the  Ger- 
man Becky  Sharp's  fair  shoulders  falls  all  the 
punishment,  whereas  Leo  strides  out  afresh  into 
a  future  promiseful  of  fortune  and  love.  To  our 
ethical  conceptions  the  end  is  far  from  satisfying, 
but  Sudermann  —  and  this  dogmatism  constitutes 
one  of  his  weaknesses  —  is  bound  to  prove  a  the- 
sis. His  characters  may  fitly  be  divided  into  two 


28  MODERN   GERMAN   LITERATURE 

classes:  the  active  or  potent,  and  the  passive  or 
impotent,  —  the  driving  and  the  drifting.  To  the 
former  goes  out  the  writer's  approval,  regardless 
of  fine  moral  distinctions ;  to  the  latter,  his  sym- 
pathy, pity,  blame,  or  contempt.  In  order  to  com- 
pel Sudermann's  respect  a  man  must,  above  all 
things,  possess  an  imperturbable  individuality,  an 
ego  of  his  own  making.  There  is  at  least  noth- 
ing mysterious,  nothing  unpractical,  in  this  robust 
doctrine. 

The  same  idea  is  preached  in  Sudermann's  plays 
even  more  emphatically  and  drastically  than  in  his 
novels.  Most  of  these  plays  are  social  plays,  even 
as  the  novels  were  social  novels.  With  fists  of 
iron  they  hammer  at  the  bars  of  the  protecting 
fence  which  the  old  use-and-wont  of  society  has 
drawn  round  its  ancient  structure.  If  in  Frau 
Sorge  and  in  Es  War  the  great  satirist  has 
wielded  a  scourge,  he  chastens  with  scorpions  in 
Die  Ehre  ("Honor"),  in  Heimat  (called  in  the 
English  translation  "  Magda "),  and  in  Sodoms 
Ende  ("  The  Destruction  of  Sodom  ").  In  turning 
our  interest  to  these  and  the  other  problem  plays, 
let  us  bear  in  mind  that  behind  the  dramatis  per- 
sonae  in  them  stand  living  social  questions  of  our 
time.  To  show  the  common  ground  from  which 


SUDERMANN  29 

the  conflicts  spring  in  his  dramas,  the  means 
by  which  they  are  driven  to  a  climax,  and,  lastly, 
the  method  by  which  they  reach  solution,  is  the 
purpose  of  the  following  epitome  of  Sudermann's 
social  philosophy.  Sudermann  sees  in  human 
society  not  a  firm  conglomerate,  but  rather, 
as  it  were,  a  stratified  formation  of  which  each 
layer  is  a  separate  world  in  miniature.  To  him 
the  eternal  warfare  of  human  interests  is  thus 
a  struggle  between  contiguous  strata  of  society. 
Whether  the  war  be  waged  between  the  aris- 
tocracy and  the  middle  class,  or  between  the 
propertied  class  and  the  proletariat,  or  whether 
the  parties  to  the  conflict  be  the  employer  and  the 
employed,  the  producer  and  the  middleman,  the 
soldier  and  the  civilian,  or  lastly,  to  use  a  term 
become  famous  through  Sudermann,  the  front- 
house  folk  and  the  rear-house  folk,  there  is,  in 
all  these  cases,  a  necessary  contact  of  some  sort 
which  causes  friction.  The  insularity  of  the  social 
groups  is  even  greater  than  this  fact  alone  would 
explain.  For  each  caste  in  its  intimate  soul  life 
stands  solitary,  not  only  over  against  the  adjacent, 
but  over  against  every  other  caste.  It  cannot 
understand  the  others  and  is  not  understood  by 
them.  It  is  perfectly  true,  as  the  veteran  novelist 


30  MODERN   GERMAN   LITERATURE 

Spielhagen  urges,  that  this  is  not  a  new  discov- 
ery; but  who  before  Sudermann  had  ever  clearly- 
made  it  the  thesis  of  a  play? 

Now  it  often  happens  that  an  exceptional  indi- 
vidual in  the  course  of  developing  his  superior 
gifts  steps  beyond  the  circle  assigned  him  by  the 
accident  of  birth.  Woe  betide  such  a  man  if  the 
severance  of  the  ties  that  hold  him  to  his  native 
circle  be  incomplete,  if  by  a  sense  of  duty  and 
piety  he  retain  allegiance  to  the  narrower  province, 
and  if  habit  and  family  affection  stay  the  hand  that 
would  burst  its  own  shackles !  To  conclude  from 
these  premises  that  Sudermann's  warning  finger 
points  the  way  back  for  him  who  has  strayed  from 
his  home  would  be  misinterpreting  his  central 
lesson.  On  the  contrary,  he  urges  declass'es  of  this 
sort  unmistakably  to  the  path  that  leads  to  free- 
dom. In  his  earlier  works,  at  least,  he  cares  more 
for  the  individual  than  for  the  social  group;  and 
his  favorite  hero  seems  to  be  the  person  who 
fights  for  the  higher  place  for  which  he  is  fitted. 

The  drift  of  Sudermann's  first  drama,  Die  Ehre 
("Honor")  (1890;  performed  November,  1889), 
which  brought  him  sudden  fame,  opposes  the 
common  sentiment  that  honor  is  a  supreme  ideal 
possession  in  which  all  men  can  share ;  more  in 


SUDERMANN  31 

particular,  the  play  goes  to  refute  the  prevalent 
German  notions  upon  the  subject  of  personal 
honor.  Count  Trast,  the  counseling  friend  of 
the  leading  character,  who  would  drive  out  that 
phantom  and  have  men's  conduct  ruled  instead 
by  a  high  sense  of  justice,  probably  articulates  the 
author's  ethics  in  branding  conventional  honor  as 
one  of  the  conventional  lies.  It  is  perhaps  not 
without  a  deep  significance  that  on  the  stage  the 
distinguished  cosmopolite  bears  a  marked  external 
resemblance  to  the  author.  At  any  rate,  Trast  is 
not  really  and  seriously  bound  up  with  the  plot, 
and  serves  in  the  main  only  to  promulgate  the 
above-sketched  philosophy,  which  task  he  accom- 
plishes by  a  flow*  of  eloquence  richly  besprinkled 
with  bonmots.  Our  sympathies  are  won,  in  greater 
measure  even  than  by  his  role  as  Robert  Hei- 
necke's  mentor,  by  the  precious  manner  in  which 
he  plays  havoc  with  the  vacuous  Kurt  Miihlingk 
and  his  boon  companions,  and  at  no  stage  is  he 
so  sure  of  our  applause  as  when  amid  sardonic 
laughter  he  rakes  the  fashionable  young  libertines 
over  the  undying  coals  of  his  satire.  Throughout 
the  play  Trast  creates  the  impression  that  the  play- 
wright himself  has  in  this  thin  disguise  mounted 
the  stage  and  is  moving  with  characteristic  aplomb 


32  MODERN   GERMAN  LITERATURE 

among  his  own  creatures.  This  importance  of 
Count  Trast  as  the  exponent  of  Sudermann's 
philosophy  makes  it  proper,  though  he  is  not 
the  hero,  to  speak  of  him  before  all  the  other 
characters  of  Die  Ehre.  When  a  mere  stripling 
of  a  lieutenant  he  was  discharged  mit  schlichtem 
Abschied,  i.e.  he  left  the  regiment  under  a  cloud. 
The  reason  was  a  by  no  means  uncommon  one. 
The  trouble  had  grown  out  of  his  inability  to 
pay  a  gambling  debt  on  short  order,  but  the 
real  crime  was  that  he  declined  the  brotherly 
invitation  to  make  use  of  a  loaded  pistol  which  a 
committee  of  his  fellow-officers  had  generously 
provided  for  his  suicide.  Now  after  a  lapse  of 
time  he  comes  back,  an  Indian  "coffee  king"  of 
vast  wealth  and  commercial  influence.  The  tri- 
fling debt  of  ninety  thousand  thalers  he  has  long 
ago  discharged,  without  in  the  slightest  degree 
reinstating  himself  in  the  good  graces  of  his  own 
father,  much  less  rehabilitating  himself  with  the 
exclusive  coterie  to  which  he  formerly  belonged. 
A  checkered  experience  has  taught  him  not  only 
to  look  beyond  the  restricted  horizons  of  his 
former  and  his  present  social  positions,  but  also 
to  shake  himself  free  of  every  class  prejudice 
whatsoever.  He  is  a  completed  Lebenskunstler, 


SUDERMANN  33 

a  past  master  in  the  art  of  living,  a  man  who,  like 
Goethe's  Wilhelm  Meister,  has  at  last  learned  to 
shape  circumstances  to  his  own  needs  instead  of 
allowing  himself  to  be  shaped  by  them,  has  learned 
to  be  the  hammer  rather  than  the  anvil  in  the 
forge  of  life.  In  the  portrayal  of  this  imposing 
personage  Sudermann  furnishes  proof  that  with 
all  his  congenital  love  for  his  fatherland  he  is  in 
truth  a  citizen  of  that  larger  home  which  is  not 
defined  on  the  map  with  colored  inks.  This  is 
revealed  in  Trast's  rare  freedom  from  the  provin- 
cialism which  insistently  crops  out  in  Germans  in 
ever  so  many  little  ways,  even  if  they  have  trav- 
eled. Trast  is  first  and  last  a  man  of  the  world, 
equally  at  his  ease  with  the  German  merchant  and 
the  Indian  Rajah,  in  the  London  club  and  the 
continental  Casino,  amid  the  gayety  of  the  Latin 
Quarter  of  Paris  and  the  busy  hubbub  of  down- 
town New  York.  It  has  been  stated  that  before 
justice  this  man  bows  as  to  his  ruling  power;  he 
recognizes  no  other  moral  law.  Naturally  he 
makes  strong  enemies.  But  he  is  callously  indif- 
ferent to  public  opinion.  As  a  rule  he  is  let  alone, 
because  he  keeps  disagreeable  persons  at  a  dis- 
tance with  a  tone  and  gesture  which  he  holds  in 
reserve  for  the  purpose.  For  the  rest  he  has  perfect 


34  MODERN   GERMAN  LITERATURE 

polish  and  self-control,  is  proud  but  not  arrogant, 
always  disposed  to  be  considerate,  but  prone  to  vent 
his  sarcasm,  which  is  cutting  and  slightly  cynical. 
Under  the  tutelage  of  this  well-balanced  man, 
Robert  Heinecke,  the  youthful  hero  of  the  play, 
has  progressed  considerably  in  worldly  knowledge, 
though  he  still  lacks  the  poise  that  is  needed  in 
his  predicament.  Sprung  from  very  lowly  stock, 
he  has  raised  himself  through  signal  ability  and 
perseverance,  not  without  the  aid  of  favoring  for- 
tune, to  an  important  mercantile  position.  After 
many  years  of  tireless  work  in  the  service  of 
his  former  benefactor  Kommerzienrat  Muhlingk, 
Robert  has  just  returned  to  Berlin  from  the  Indian 
branch  of  the  firm.  Through  all  these  years  abroad 
how  deeply  has  he  yearned  for  his  parents  and 
sisters !  On  arriving,  however,  he  feels  at  once, 
though  he  is  slow  to  admit  it  to  himself,  that  he 
has  become  unused  to  the  spiritual  atmosphere  of 
his  domestic  circle.  The  chasm  between  Robert 
and  his  family  is  plainly  hinted,  in  a  cleverly  casual 
way,  through  an  episode  in  the  first  act.  A  man- 
servant of  the  Mlihlingks,  who  reside  in  the  front- 
house  (the  Heineckes  are  living  in  the  rear),  has 
assumed  a  tone  of  insolent  familiarity  in  delivering 
a  message  to  young  Heinecke.  Robert's  mother 


SUDERMANN  35 

invites  the  messenger  to  sit  down  with  them: 
"  Won't  you  eat  a  piece  of  coffee-cake  with  us, 
William?  There  is  some  left." 

Robert:  Pardon,  mother  (lie  hands  him  a  coin}', 
the  man  has  his  pay.  Say  to  the  Herr  Kommer- 
zienrat  that  I  hope  he  will  do  me  the  honor  of 
receiving  me  at  one  o'clock.  I  shall  call  at  that 
hour  with  the  Count  von  Trast-Saarberg.  (Exit 
the  flunky} 

Robert  had  come  home  without  the  slightest 
suspicion  of  the  state  of  things,  though  Trast  had 
forewarned  him.  Now  as  the  truth  begins  to  dawn 
on  him  he  has  to  listen  to  Trast's  lecture:  "  Un- 
happy is  the  man  who  has  fallen  out  of  his  caste 
and  has  not  the  courage  to  cut  loose  his  conscience 
from  it  also."  For  each  caste,  according  to  Trast- 
Sudermann,  has  a  different  morality,  in  particular 
a  special  sense  of  honor.  Robert  learns  to  his  hor- 
ror that  under  the  protectorate  of  her  older  sister, 
the  younger,  Alma,  has  been  maintaining  illicit 
but  profitable  relations  with  young  Kurt  Muhlingk. 
In  his  first  access  of  anger  he  demands  from  Kurt 
the  restitution  of  his  family  honor ;  but  after  a  night 
spent  in  tormenting  sorrow  his  better  judgment 
prevails.  He  will  lift  his  family  out  of  the  mire 
and  make  for  them  a  new  home  in  some  far-away 


36  MODERN   GERMAN   LITERATURE 

corner  of  the  world.  It  is  now  that  the  vulgarity 
of  his  family  is  brought  home  to  Robert,  and  he 
grows  fully  ashamed  of  the  class  with  which  birth 
has  thrown  him,  for  he  learns  how  comfortably 
happy  his  nearest  and  dearest  of  kin  feel  in  their 
bottomless  slough.  The  parents  are  blunted  to  a 
true  sense  of  their  daughter's  disgrace.  Miihlingk 
senior  plasters  their  wounded  honor  with  a  good- 
sized  check,  and  Alma,  but  now  threatened  with 
a  melodramatic  paternal  curse,  is  overwhelmed 
with  clamorous  gratitude  by  the  honorable  family 
conclave.  Her  own  matrimonial  future  lies  bright 
before  her,  since  with  her  sinful  fortune  she  has 
now  become  a  far  better  match  than  if  her  dowry 
had  consisted  of  a  complete  assortment  of  the 
womanly  virtues.  Robert  can  do  no  better  than 
turn  his  back  on  the  despicable  tribe.  After  a 
stormy  scene  in  the  front-house,  where  he  gives 
a  very  mauvais  quart  d'heure  to  the  Miihlingks, 
father  and  son,  he  goes  away,  taking  with  him  as 
his  bride  Lenore,  the  noble-minded  sister  of  Kurt. 
This  "  heart-story,"  too  palpably  grafted  on  to  the 
stock  of  the  play,  is  one  of  several  complications 
which  are  highly  improbable  and  too  plainly  de- 
signed for  effect  On  the  whole,  the  motivation  is 
somewhat  commonplace,  and  the  exposition  of  the 


SUDERMANN  37 

Vorfabel,  i.e.  the  action  precedent  to  the  play, 
rather  violent.  In  its  technic  this  play,  which 
with  its  parallelism  of  corrupt  wealth  and  corrupt 
poverty  as  in  other  respects  is  reminiscent  of 
Anzengruber's  Das  Vierte  Gebot  ("  The  Fourth 
Commandment "),  does  not  concert  with  the  natu- 
ralistic movement  which  simultaneously  with  Die 
Ehre  scored  its  first  triumph  in  Hauptmann's 
"Before  Sunrise."  Monologue,  that  traditional 
makeshift  of  psychologic  exposure,  is  not  scorned, 
and  even  the  notorious  trick  of  "  asides,"  so  utterly 
discredited  by  the  moderns,  is  employed  in  Die 
Ehre,  which  from  its  combining  the  methods  of 
the  French  drama  of  the  second  empire  with  a 
greater  realism  has  been  properly  termed  a  com- 
promise play.  The  best  merits  of  Die  Ehre  are 
its  clever  argumentation  and  the  telling  seizure  of 
the  milieu.  But  it  is  far  inferior  to  later  plays,  and 
especially  inadequate  in  its  conclusion,  which  is 
brought  on  rather  forcibly  by  that  cleaver  of  all 
Gordian  knots,  the  Count  Trast-Saarberg.  All 
the  events  make  for  a  tragedy:  it  is  averted  by 
nothing  but  the  good  nature  of  the  playwright 
and  his  alter  ego,  the  inimitable  count. 

Much   more    "  naturalistic "    in   its   technic    is 
Sudermann's  second   play,   Sodoms  Ende  ("  The 


38  MODERN  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

Destruction  of  Sodom") (1891),  a  Juvenalian  satire 
on  the  wickedness  of  the  modern  Berlin.  The 
hero  of  this  tragedy  —  if,  remarks  some  German 
critic,  a  wash-rag  may  even  technically  be  termed 
a  hero  —  reminds  us  in  some  respects,  notably  in 
his  morbid  incapacity  for  work,  of  Oswald  Alving 
in  Ibsen's  "  Ghosts."  A  talented  young  fellow  has 
painted  a  picture  dealing  with  the  destruction  of 
Sodom,  which  more  through  its  cynical  candor 
than  by  virtue  of  its  intrinsic  merit  makes  him 
famous  at  a  single  stroke.  There  is  in  the  play  a 
certain  Dr.  Weisse,  who  resembles  in  a  perverted 
way  the  celebrated  Konrad  Bolz  in  Frey tag's  Die 
Journalisten,  —  a  flaneur  of  much  wit  and  clear 
sight,  but  morally  decrepit  and  inert.  This  man 
remarks  about  the  picture :  "  A  thousand  times 
the  subject  has  been  worked,  but  in  what  fashion  ? 
In  the  foreground,  on  a  rock,  good  Master  Lot, 
surrounded  by  other  oxen  and  asses ;  a  little  farther 
back  his  spouse,  devotedly  petrified  into  a  pillar 
of  salt ;  and  in  the  distance  something  which  looks 
like  three  burning  matches !  "  Willy  Janikow  has 
touched  the  tradition-worn  subject  with  the  flames 
of  his  lurid  fantasy;  in  his  painting  it  becomes 
the  ghastly  allegory  of  delirious  sensuality  and  the 
whirling  chase  after  frantic  pleasures.  Such  a 


SUDERMANN  39 

picture  as  that  cannot  fail  to  seize  upon  the  fancy 
of  the  Stock  Exchange  aristocracy  for  whom  ex- 
citement and  enjoyment  are  almost  synonymous. 
Accordingly,  the  Tiergartenviertel,  always  glad  to 
patronize  that  art  which  tugs  hard  at  the  nerve 
cords,  has  received  the  new-fangled  genius  in  its 
lion  cage  and  pampered  and  petted  his  consider- 
able talent  to  death.  Among  us  barbarians  of  the 
West,  with  our  still  half-savage  notions  about  the 
superfluousness  of  art,  such  treatment  does  not 
come  to  an  aspiring  artist.  Nor  need  any  Ameri- 
can artist  —  I  mean  a  real  artist,  not  an  artificer 
—  sigh  for  the  hardening  discipline  of  public  indif- 
ference. In  a  city  like  St.  Louis  or  Chicago  the 
ingenious  Willy  would,  in  all  probability,  have 
gone  through  a  protracted  and  rather  inconvenient 
regime  of  penury  and  semistarvation,  instead  of 
falling  into  lassitude  and  luxurious  ennui.  Things 
are  different  in  Berlin,  W.  Dr.  Weisse  in  his  hey- 
day fared  equally  well  or  ill :  "  Look  at  me !  In 
the  province  they  call  me  a  celebrity,  and  if  you 
open  any  newspaper  you  are  sure  to  find  my  name. 
One  day  I  have  been  decorated  with  an  order,  an- 
other day  a  horse  has  run  away  with  me  —  and 
sundry  other  accidents  of  the  sort.  And  yet  I 
am  wretchedly  gone  to  seed.  My  lyrics  have  all 


40  MODERN   GERMAN   LITERATURE 

vinegared  this  long  time ;  no  new  ideas  come  to 
me."  But  he  knows  how  to  accommodate  himself 
to  the  change:  "So  I  have  gone  in  for  criticism. 
The  howling  dog  has  transformed  himself  into 
the  biting  dog."  However,  his  pristine  glory  has 
departed:  "Ah!  what  a  great  fellow  I  was  in  those 
days,  when  in  every  German  bookcase  the  place  of 
honor  next  to  Henrietta  Davidis'  cookbook  was 
reserved  for  me!"  We  know  Sudermann's  attitude 
towards  such  parasitic  existences.  In  polar  oppo- 
sition to  their  moral  apathy  stands  honest  Profes- 
sor Riemann,  the  sane  and  sober  maker  of  fair  to 
middling  pictures,  a  man  who  closes  his  unspoiled 
heart  hermetically  against  all  wicked  eccentrici- 
ties. Riemann  has  no  use  for  Nietzsche  with  his 
maxim,  so  alluring  and  convenient,  of  the  "  Beyond 
Good  and  Evil."  "  Let  me  alone  with  your  gospel 
of  vice,  if  you  please,"  he  remarks  to  the  inverte- 
brate Willy.  In  nearly  every  play  of  Sudermann 
some  character  seems  to  be  authorized  to  speak 
for  the  author.  Unquestionably  Riemann  in  " The 
End  of  Sodom"  is  that  special  ablegate.  Suder- 
mann condones  many  sins  in  a  man  who,  despite 
failures  and  downfalls,  has  at  last  attained  a  clari- 
fied, definite  individuality ;  he  esteems  a  powerful 
"Will  to  Live";  but  his  pity  is  as  deaf  for  the 


SUDERMANN  41 

self-appointed  "  overman "  as  it  is  for  the  cry, 
Oest  plus  fort  que  moi,  —  that  eternal  appeal  of 
the  worm-eaten  weakling.  Sudermann  is  wholly 
free  from  decadence.  Although  much  obloquy 
has  been  heaped  on  him  for  depicting  such  scan- 
dalous conditions  and  such  a  corrupt  society  as 
in  Sodoms  Ende,  he  derives  the  right  to  deal  with 
them  from  the  very  fact  that  he  has  observed 
them  at  a  very  close  range,  yet  has  proven  him- 
self immune  against  moral  infection.  True  it  is 
that  familiarity  with  the  seamy  side  of  life  has 
stripped  him  of  many  illusions,  and  surely  it  is  a 
matter  for  regret  that  because  of  his  thorough 
sophistication  he  is  rather  unsuccessful  in  the 
dramatic  presentment  of  innocence.  Fritzchen  in 
Sodoms  Ende  is  as  insufferable  a  specimen  of  the 
stage  child  as  William  Tell's  precocious  Walter. 
Equally  infelicitous  is  the  portrayal  of  Klarchen 
Frohlich,  the  naive  victim  of  Willy  Janikow.  Much 
more  successfully  drawn  by  contrast  is  Kitty,  who 
though  for  a  while  too  close  to  the  vortex  of  ques- 
tionable gayeties,  and  engaged  in  some  rather  risky 
flirtations,  has  remained  sound  at  the  core.  Suder- 
mann loves  to  operate  with  contrasting  milieus. 
In  Die  Ehre  we  had  the  Vorder-  and  the  Hinter- 
haus ;  in  Sodoms  Ende  the  cramped  snuggery  of 


42  MODERN  GERMAN   LITERATURE 

Willy's  impoverished,  hard-working  parents  is  held 
up  by  the  side  of  the  splendid  establishment  of 
Barczinowsky  the  speculator.  This  household  is 
a  typical  abode  and  rallying  place  of  brazen  up- 
starts and  reckless  voluptuaries.  Dr.  Weisse,  that 
"  incarnation  of  impertinence,"  says  with  a  cynical 
boast :  "One  is  entirely  sans  gene  in  these  houses. 
Here  we  talk  like  hostlers.  That  is  the  fine  fleur 
of  social  culture  nowadays."  That  young  Jani- 
kow  is  so  easily  infected  by  the  pestilent  moral 
atmosphere  which  circulates  in  this  den  of  arrant 
luxury  is  perhaps  proof  sufficient  that  there  is  not 
much  to  the  man.  And  so  it  is  difficult  to  under- 
stand why  mature  Frau  Adah,  her  piquant  niece 
Kitty,  and  poor  Klarchen  Frohlich  fight  for  him 
so  madly.  For  a  while  things  go  swimmingly. 
Willy  is  not  really  a  bad  man,  for  to  be  bad  is 
at  least  to  have  some  character.  He  merely  com- 
bines the  traits  of  a  thoroughgoing  lazzarone  and 
an  unqualified  egoist.  Nothing  could  be  worse  for 
him  than  the  adulation  which  greets  him  at  every 
turn,  —  from  his  poverty-stricken  parents  and  his 
unreasonably  faithful  friend  Kramer  at  home,  and 
in  the  mansion  of  the  rich  stock  gambler  from  the 
seductive  lady  of  the  house.  A  stronger  head  than 
his  might  be  turned  by  so  much  frankincense  and 


SUDERMANN  43 

myrrh.  The  impudent  fellow  indulges  in  liberties 
which  loudly  call  for  a  flogging,  but  behold  —  all 
the  world  throws  bouquets  at  him.  A  glaring  in- 
stance is  his  declaration  of  his  so-called  love  to 
Kitty.  Is  he,  after  all,  but  a  harmless  idler?  Far 
from  it.  Sudermann  holds  that  he  who  has  been 
left  at  the  wayside  because  he  missed  the  train 
that  was  to  speed  him  onward  to  his  proper  des- 
tination will,  as  a  rule,  bring  destruction  not  only 
upon  himself  but  on  others  also.  And  so  Willy 
Janikow,  that  shining  specimen  of  prurient  genius 
who  once  expresses  a  passing  curiosity  to  know 
"  how  an  honest  fellow  feels,"  crushes  the  happi- 
ness of  six  human  lives  in  the  brief  space  of  five 
theatrical  acts,  with  about  as  much  compunction 
as  that  with  which  a  man  swallows  his  half  dozen 
oysters  by  way  of  prelude  to  dinner.  Yet  towards 
the  end,  after  committing  a  twofold  villainy  against 
Klarchen  and  his  loyal  Kramer,  he  whines  and 
whimpers,  "Do  me  the  last  favor  and  kill  me." 
Kramer,  who  has  the  tender  sensibilities  of  Adam 
Bede  and  the  "  Manxman,"  cannot  nerve  himself 
to  the  deed.  And  so,  as  his  hero  cannot  rise  to  the 
opportunity  for  a  decent  suicide,  the  playwright  is 
compelled  to  invoke  a  most  improbable,  but  for- 
tunately fatal,  hemorrhage. 


44  MODERN   GERMAN   LITERATURE 

We  cannot  help  admiring  the  lifelike  picture 
of  that  class  of  society  which  dances  —  in  Berlin 
and  elsewhere  too  —  not,  as  the  saying  has  it,  on 
the  edge  of  a  crater,  but  rather  on  the  thin  sur- 
face of  a  foul  morass.  Even  more  admirable  is 
the  technical  mastery  shown  in  the  construction. 
The  motivation  of  Kramer's  threatening  ven- 
geance, the  manner  in  which  Willy  Janikow's 
mother  discovers  that  Adah  is  her  son's  mistress,  — 
these  and  other  incidents  are  unexcelled  examples 
of  intelligent  dramatic  composition;  and  our  grate- 
ful appreciation  for  these  may  make  us  indulgent 
to  the  disgusting  scene  which  presents  Janikow 
father  and  son  both  hopelessly  the  worse  for 
liquor,  and  to  the  somewhat  theatrical  soliloquy 
which  brings  the  piece  to  a  close.  Sodoms  Ende 
though  realistic  is  not  true  to  life;  a  satire  is 
always  an  exaggeration.  Still,  although  the  con- 
ditions of  life  which  are  presented  in  this  play 
do  not  impress  one  as  actual  or  probable,  they 
do  not  seem  impossible.  The  author  has  simply 
culled  the  ingredients  out  of  which  the  work  is 
distilled  from  a  far  greater  area  of  observation 
than  is  brought  to  view.  He  makes  no  effort  to 
palm  it  off  as  a  piece  of  life.  Even  in  this,  the 
most  uncompromisingly  realistic  of  his  longer 


SUDERMANN  45 

plays,  he  does  not  attempt  to  reproduce  the  jargon 
of  the  every-day.  The  greater,  then,  the  power 
of  his  craftsmanship,  since  he  succeeds  in  spite  of 
this  in  giving  to  his  play  such  a  considerable  sem- 
blance of  dramatic  truth.  I  say  truth  advisedly, 
but  do  not  mean  the  literal  truth  of  life;  of  that 
even  the  most  thoroughgoing  realism  is  bound 
to  fall  short.  The  truth  of  a  play  consists  in  the 
playwright's  power  to  make  us  accept  illusions 
for  facts. 

Two  years  after  Sodoms  Ende,  in  1893,  Heimat 
("  Magda  ")  was  performed  for  the  first  time,  —  a 
play  in  which  the  eclectic  method  of  Die  Ehre  is 
again  employed  in  preference  to  the  greater  natu- 
ralism of  Sodoms  Ende.  The  subject  dealt  with 
in  "  Magda"  has  been  treated  in  a  humorous  vein 
by  another  modern  writer,  Ernst  von  Wolzogen,  in 
his  comedy  Die  Kinder  der  Excellenz.  It  in  fact 
contains  a  strong  serio-comic  possibility.  How- 
ever, in  "  Magda  "  what  humor  there  is,  is  episodic, 
incidental.  The  main  drift  is  opposed  to  any  form 
of  levity,  the  satirical  spirit  held  firmly  in  check 
by  the  serious  purpose.  "  Magda"  is  the  most  bril- 
liant defense  of  Sudermann's  sociological  thesis. 
A  social  conflict  lies  at  the  basis  of  the  tragedy. 
The  author  resumes  the  subject  already  once 


46  MODERN  GERMAN   LITERATURE 

treated  in  Die  Ehre,  viewing  it  from  a  different 
point  under  altered  circumstances ;  carrying  it, 
in  my  estimation,  to  a  more  natural,  or  at  any 
rate  to  a  more  probable,  conclusion.  The  olden 
time,  incarnate  in  the  retired  Lieutenant-Colonel 
Schwartze,  is  in  conflict  with  the  new.  Throne 
and  altar  are  struggling  with  new-bred  ideals  for 
ethical  supremacy.  The  form  of  the  conflict  may 
seem  antiquated  in  its  poignancy,  but  thus  the 
clash  in  the  tragedy  is  all  the  better  prepared. 
Now  from  this  dramatic  substructure  arises  the 
private  tragedy  of  a  spirited  individual  revolting 
against  the  caste  in  order  to  enforce  a  right  to  in- 
dependent happiness.  In  the  act  of  self-liberation 
which  necessitates  the  painful  severing  of  sacred 
ties,  the  play  culminates.  We  have  seen  Robert 
Heinecke  in  the  throes  of  the  same  ordeal,  but 
he  fought  his  battle  by  the  side  of  a  trusty  and 
powerful  ally ;  moreover,  the  loathsome  vulgarity 
of  his  own  people  made  the  separation  relatively 
easy.  It  is  different  in  Heimat.  The  hero  this 
time  is  a  woman,  —  a  woman  who  is  put  altogether 
on  her  mettle.  Do  not  think  for  a  moment  that 
Sudermann's  play  deals  with  woman's  "  emanci- 
pation," as  the  word  was  understood  twenty-five 
years  ago.  For  a  modern  writer  of  his  way  of 


SUDERMANN  47 

thinking  the  woman  question  has  passed  beyond 
that  theoretical  stage.  Since  the  overwhelming 
majority  of  progressive-minded  men  has  pro- 
nounced in  favor  of  the  admission  of  women  to 
higher  studies  and  to  the  practice  of  arts  and 
professions,  the  ground  is  nearly  cut  out  from 
under  the  feet  of  the  adversaries  of  the  move- 
ment. Even  for  the  German  woman  the  realiza- 
tion of  her  claims  to  equality  has  begun  under 
propitious  auspices.  It  is  quite  in  vain  that 
the  little  god  to  whom  the  male  philistine  has 
erected  an  altar  in  his  stomach  still  struggles 
against  the  coming  certainty,  and  questions  with 
an  anxious  sigh  who  is  going  to  cook  for  him 
after  that. 

Magda  has  left  the  paternal  roof  many  years 
ago  in  order  to  save  herself  from  the  crushing 
tyranny  of  her  father,  a  man  who  brings  up  his 
family  after  the  fashion  of  a  petty  sovereign, 
instilling  by  rigid  discipline,  along  with  a  rever- 
ence for  his  ideals,  a  thorough  respect  for  the 
great  military  phantoms  of  Pride  and  Honor.  The 
immediate  cause  of  the  rupture  was  Magda's  refu- 
sal to  marry  young  Pastor  Heffterdingk.  She 
goes  to  Berlin,  first  as  companion  to  an  old  lady. 
After  a  year  she  decides  to  go  on  the  stage.  The 


48  MODERN  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

news  of  this  disgracing  step  so  shocks  the  old  offi- 
cer that  he  has  a  paralytic  stroke,  from  which  he 
never  quite  recovers.  He  is  compelled  to  quit  the 
service, — a  terrible  blow  for  him.  Thus  Magda 
is  the  cause  of  all  his  misfortunes.  Meanwhile 
what  is  her  own  fate  ?  Utterly  disowned  by  her 
father,  all  alone  in  Berlin,  where  she  struggles  to 
open  a  career  for  herself,  the  impulsive  girl  suc- 
cumbs to  the  blandishments  of  a  young  barrister. 
After  he  abandons  her,  she  passes  through  the 
vicissitudes  of  an  artist's  career  to  ultimate  tri- 
umph. Now  a  famous  prima  donna,  she  has 
returned  under  her  stage  name  for  a  passing  visit 
to  her  native  town,  where  she  is  to  be  the  star  in 
a  great  music  festival.  The  remembrance  of  her 
father's  despotism  is  still  vivid  within  her  and  her 
resentment  unbroken.  Nevertheless,  she  yields 
to  the  persuasion  of  the  unselfish  Heffterdingk 
and  patches  up  a  peace  with  her  father,  who,  like- 
wise through  the  pastor's  efforts,  though  at  first 
terribly  stirred,  consents  to  receive  her.  Know- 
ing that  there  can  be  no  entente  between  her  and 
her  people,  that  only  a  sense  of  piety  still  attracts 
her  to  her  home,  Magda  has  no  business  to  move 
from  the  hotel  to  the  paternal  rooftree  merely  to 
gratify  her  father's  unreasonable  whim.  On  this 


SUDERMANN  49 

point  the  old  man  really  acts  like  a  monomaniac. 
If  Magda  should  only  stand  her  own  ground 
there  would  be  no  tragedy.  Nobody  knows  this 
so  well  as  Sudermann,  and  that  is  just  why  she 
must  make  the  fatal  concession.  A  mere  removal 
from  hotel  to  house  is  made  responsible  for  the 
sequel !  The  problem  of  Die  Ehre  is  here  re- 
stated, but  this  time  it  is  viewed  on  the  obverse 
side,  the  spiritual  reaction  of  the  home  people 
under  the  contact  with  the  "  outsider  "  furnishing 
the  dramatic  motive.  That  there  must  be  a  clash 
is  clear.  The  very  contrast  between  Magda's  free 
mode  of  life  and  the  narrow-gauge  track  along 
which  the  family  life  is  trailing,  the  contrast 
between  their  straitened  decorum  and  her  some- 
what stagy  sans  gene,  is  bound  to  produce  it. 
Still,  Magda  may  not  stay  long  enough  to  make 
serious  trouble.  But  then  there  is  Magda's  past. 
We  understand  that  she  is  not  a  common  adven- 
turess, but  shall  we  expect  her  father  to  draw 
nice  distinctions  ?  Magda  therefore  sets  the  con- 
dition that  her  past  life  must  not  be  stirred  up  by 
any  questions,  and  thus  makes  her  entry  into  her 
father's  home  with  a  stipulation  which  borders 
dangerously  on  a  jeu  de  theatre.  When  I  last 
saw  the  play  it  was  certainly  either  a  symbolic 


50  MODERN  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

coincidence,  or  an  intentional  hint  between  acts, 
that  after  the  drop  of  the  curtain,  immediately 
after  Magda's  injunction  is  laid  down,  the  or- 
chestra struck  up  the  Lohengrin  motive,  "  Nie 
sollst  du  mich  befragen!"  The  question  now 
is,  How  long  will  the  unreasonable  old  gentle- 
man, whom  the  very  condition  has  put  on  the 
alert,  live  up  to  his  promise  and  leave  his  daugh- 
ter unmolested?  In  the  third  act  he  is  the  horri- 
fied earwitness  of  Magda's  secret.  Events  now 
follow  one  another  with  sweeping  force.  The 
old  soldier,  beside  himself  with  grief  and  shame, 
loses  his  head.  It  never  occurs  to  him  that  if  he 
would  keep  silence  and  allow  Magda  to  go  her 
way,  he  would  be  no  worse  off  than  he  long  had 
been.  She  has  been  a  stranger  to  him  for  many 
years.  He  has  not  cared  to  know  what  has 
become  of  her.  Even  the  mention  of  her  name 
has  been  forbidden  in  his  house.  But  as  he  has 
worn  His  Majesty's  uniform,  his  sense  of  honor  is 
always  on  the  verge  of  an  explosion.  His  only 
care  is  to  scour  the  blot  from  his  scutcheon.  One 
hope  only  is  left.  Dr.  Keller,  Magda's  seducer, 
who  is  at  present  a  close  political  friend  of 
Schwartze,  a  prominent  member  of  a  religious 
circle,  and  a  conspicuous  defender  of  the  Good, 


SUDERMANN  5 1 

the  True,  and  the  Noble,  must  marry  Magda; 
then  her  family  will  all  be  rehabilitated.  Keller 
is  a  true  representative  of  that  detestable  tiptoe 
pharisaism  known  in  Germany  as  Strebertum. 
He  is  not  troubled  by  the  fact  that  Magda  de- 
spises him  from  the  bottom  of  her  heart  as  a 
hypocrite  who  took  advantage  of  her  inexperi- 
ence. He  considers  only  his  career,  which  would 
be  shattered  by  the  scandal  consequent  upon 
a  duel  with  Schwartze.  An  understanding  is 
reached  by  his  proposal  of  marriage.  Through 
the  friendly  mediation  of  Pastor  Heffterdingk 
Magda  accepts  the  proposal.  Keller  then  comes 
out  with  conditions.  Magda  must  leave  the  stage. 
That  he  takes  for  granted  with  cavalier  impu- 
dence. But  he  demands  further  that  she  shall 
permanently  separate  from  their  child.  This  is 
the  last  straw.  She  orders  him  out  of  the  house. 
But  the  old  colonel  stands  determined  to  compel 
her  to  yield  to  the  cruel  demand.  Now  Magda, 
realizing  that  she  has  again  put  her  neck  into 
the  iron  collar  of  paternal  authority  from  which 
she  had  once  freed  herself,  rises  in  revolt;  her 
child  at  least  she  will  not  sacrifice  to  such  des- 
potism. Her  motive  in  this  decisive  fight  for 
liberty  is  not  selfish.  Magda's  proud  exclamation, 


52  MODERN   GERMAN   LITERATURE 

"  I  am  myself  and  must  not  lose  myself,"  must 
not  mislead  us.  We  have  seen  her  ready  to 
submit,  to  suffer  abridgment  of  her  personal 
freedom,  even  to  relinquish  her  brilliant  career, 
all  for  the  sake  of  her  old  father,  to  whom  she 
feels  that  she  owes  reparation.  But  now  her 
maternal  instincts  rebel ;  and  when  she  reflects 
that  such  a  heinous  sacrifice  is  sanctioned  by  the 
general  code  of  morals,  she  tramples  that  code 
into  the  dust.  In  her  deep  provocation  she  no 
longer  takes  heed  of  the  father.  "Und  wenn  er 
nicht  der  einzige  ware — /  "  she  exclaims.  To  make 
that  marriage  impossible  she  hints  at  liaisons 
(probably  fictitious)  with  other  men.  The  father, 
desperate,  raises  the  pistol  against  the  self- 
declared  courtesan,  when  a  fatal  stroke  of  apo- 
plexy arrests  his  hand.  Over  his  dead  body 
Magda  steps  again  to  her  former  freedom ;  not 
without  a  share  of  punishment,  for  her  con- 
science will  never  entirely  acquit  her  of  blame 
for  her  father's  anguish  and  death.  Yet  the  way 
in  which  Mrs.  Patrick  Campbell  at  the  end  of  the 
play  kneels  in  the  center  of  the  stage,  crying  in 
contrite  tones,  "  My  God !  what  have  I  done ! " 
is  not  true  to  the  spirit  of  Magda.  The  heroine 
of  Heimat  in  this  hour  of  agony  must  stand 


SUDERMANN  53 

forth  —  it  is  thus  that  Sarah  Bernhardt  interprets 
the  part  —  solitary,  in  lugubrious  magnificence. 
The  opposite  of  Magda  in  conduct  is  Eliza- 
beth, the  central  figure  in  the  drama  Das  Gluck 
im  Winkel  ("Happiness  in  a  Nook")  (1896). 
Elizabeth,  named  rightly  (by  Bulthaupt)  "a  Bac- 
chante with  a  Madonna-soul,"  looks  upon  mar- 
riage as  an  asylum  wherein  the  respectable  may 
seek  refuge  and  safety  when  beset  by  temptation. 
Else  how  could  she  ever  have  consented  to  marry 
an  elderly  schoolmaster,  unlovable  in  spite  of  his 
kind  heart  and  many  sterling  qualities?  When 
temptation  returns,  with  the  appearance  in  her 
home  of  the  man  from  whom  she  has  fled,  she 
lacks  the  strength  either  to  bear  with  quiet 
endurance  her  self-inflicted  martyrdom  or  vio- 
lently to  throw  down  her  yoke  like  Magda.  To 
decide  her  fate  requires  the  superior  moral  forti- 
tude of  another  personality.  Although  what  has 
been  said  does  not  reflect  against  the  nobility  of 
Elizabeth's  character,  it  is  somewhat  difficult  to 
call  her  the  heroine.  Who  then  fills  the  principal 
part?  Can  it  be  Rocknitz,  the  East  Elbian  ath- 
lete, the  "  strong  man  "  of  the  play,  with  his  enor- 
mous chest  expansion  and  dwarfed  conscience? 
He  cheekily  poses  as  the  Ubermensch,  but  is  a 


54  MODERN  GERMAN   LITERATURE 

flat  failure  in  the  role.  The  real  trouble  with 
him  is  that,  far  from  being  overman  he  is  not 
man  enough,  so  that  we  wait  in  vain  for  an  ex- 
planation between  him  and  Elizabeth's  husband, 
Wiedemann.  His  grandiloquent  boast  that  he 
will  not  steal  the  latter's  happiness,  but  boldly 
take  it, "  face  to  face,"  etc.,  —  when  does  he  make 
it  good?  I  suspect  that  if  Elizabeth,  prevented 
from  self-destruction  by  her  husband,  resigns  her- 
self to  the  "  happiness  in  a  nook,"  her  change  of 
heart  is  due  to  disappointment  in  Rocknitz  —  to 
disillusionment  —  fully  as  much  as  to  the  con- 
quering generosity  of  Wiedemann's  love.  In  the 
final  explanation  between  husband  and  wife  the 
playwright  has,  to  my  feeling,  gone  too  far  in  an 
endeavor  to  win  sympathy  for  the  man's  high- 
mindedness.  It  transpires  that  Wiedemann  had 
proposed  to  Elizabeth,  the  homeless  "poor  rela- 
tion "  of  the  Rocknitzes,  mainly  from  a  phil- 
anthropic motive;  because  he  had  suspected, 
wrongly,  that  —  she  had  been  ruined  by  a  faith- 
less lover.  Would  it  hot  be  natural  for  Elizabeth 
in  her  innocence  and  womanly  dignity  to  resent 
the  suspicion  ?  We  look  into  the  deep  well  of 
Wiedemann's  compassion  with  a  mingled  feel- 
ing of  admiration,  wonderment,  and  contempt;  I 


SUDERMANN  55 

doubt  if,  on  the  whole,  the  revelation  heightens 
our  liking  for  him.  At  any  rate,  the  domestic 
drama  seems  hardly  concluded.  Elizabeth  has 
learned  to  despise  Rocknitz,  whom  she  had 
secretly  loved  all  her  life.  That  danger  is  moved 
out  of  her  path.  But  will  she  learn  to  love  her 
husband  simply  because  by  the  author's  fiat  she 
sees  him  in  a  new  halo?  It  taxes  our  credulity 
too  much  to  believe  in  the  possibility  of  such  a 
woman's  happiness  in  her  union  with  a  plain  and 
elderly  man  who  can  have  little  to  his  credit  in 
her  eyes  beyond  a  good  measure  of  kindliness 
and  a  certain  sort  of  latent  moral  heroism.  And 
is  there  in  Elizabeth's  temperament  the  possi- 
bility of  complete  renunciation  ?  Why  should  we 
assume  that  the  old  regret  will  trouble  her  no 
more,  of  which  she  says :  "  And  then  come  the 
winter  evenings  when  one  stares  into  the  lamp, 
and  the  summer  nights  when  the  linden  before 
the  house  is  in  bloom.  And  you  say  to  yourself, 
Yonder  somewhere  lies  the  world  and  happiness 
—  but  you  sit  here  and  knit  stockings."  Behind 
Elizabeth's  happiness  looms  a  huge  question  mark. 
Sudermann's  own  philosophy  prompts  our  doubt 
whether  she  will  ever  be  happy  with  this  hus- 
band. The  two  belong  to  different  worlds. 


56  MODERN   GERMAN   LITERATURE 

Their  love  is  a  compromise  love.  We  feel  there 
is  a  sadly  damaged  spot  in  this  marriage.  It  has 
been  covered  with  a  patch,  but  will  the  patch 
stick  forever? 

"  Magda  "  is  Sudermann's  most  successful  play. 
Das  Gliick  im  Winkel  stands  far  behind  it  in 
point  of  popularity.  This  may  be  because  Eliza- 
beth's character  appeals  less  to  the  imagination  of 
the  star  actress.  But  the  play  is  very  significant 
indeed;  for  its  lesson  is  that  the  powerful  indi- 
viduality of  Magda  hews  out  its  own  fate,  while 
Elizabeth's  lesser  personality  has  to  be  content 
with  the  lot  assigned  by  the  conventions.  Das 
Glilck  im  Winkel  also  marks  a  distinct  turn  in 
favor  of  the  accepted  morality  and  therefore  a 
step  in  the  ethics  of  the  author.  Similarly,  it  is 
the  last  treatment  of  one  of  his  artistic  problems, 
—  the  impact  of  two  diverse  spheres  henceforth 
ceases  to  be  of  immediate  interest  to  him. 

In  point  of  time  between  the  two  plays 
last  named  lies  Die  Schmetter lings schlacht  ("  The 
Battle  of  the  Butterflies")  (1895),  a  comedy,  but 
by  no  means  a  pleasing  one,  and,  in  my  opinion, 
without  enduring  worth.  I  dispense,  therefore, 
with  a  detailed  analysis.  Still,  as  a  piece  of  real- 
istic milieu  painting,  this  work  surpasses  all 


SUDERMANN  57 

previous  efforts  of  Sudermann.  The  intimate  life 
of  the  lesser  official  class  is  completely  exposed 
to  view,  the  contrast  between  its  decorous  penury 
and  the  quite  different  tribulations  of  the  manu- 
facturing class  being  strikingly  expressed  through 
the  families  Hergentheim  and  Winkelmann.  Max 
Winkelmann,  the  idealist,  finds  himself  placed 
between  and  above  the  two  classes,  somewhat  as 
Robert  is  in  Die  Ehre,  since  in  respect  to  senti- 
ment and  conduct  he  stands  on  a  higher  level 
than  either.  The  plot  of  the  play  is  entirely 
subordinate  to  the  characterization  of  the  people 
involved.  The  latter  is  exceedingly  clever,  espe- 
cially in  the  case  pf  the  many-daughtered  Widow 
Hergentheim  and  the  commis  voyageur  Kessler, 
with  his  practical  wisdom,  gift  o'  gab,  and  non- 
interfering  conscience, — a  classic  type  of  one  kind 
of  successful  business  man.  The  difficulty  is  that 
the  details  in  this  comedy  are  obtrusive,,  and  the 
humor  too  much  acidulated.  The  dramatist,  again 
over-anxious  to  point  his  moral,  is  too  liberal  with 
his  scorn,  in  consequence  of  which  the  work  loses 
much  of  that  "  high  and  excellent  seriousness " 
which  should  underlie  every  true  satire. 

Another  point  of  resemblance  with  Die  Ehre  is 
the  outcome  of  Die  Schmetterlingsschlacht.    The 


58  MODERN  GERMAN   LITERATURE 

oldest  of  the  Hergentheim  girls,  Elsa,  a  young 
widow,  has  been  carrying  on  a  love  intrigue 
with  Kessler.  Rosi,  the  youngest  sister,  is  the 
innocent  go-between.  These  clandestine  rela- 
tions are  kept  up  even  after  Elsa  has  succeeded 
in  capturing  Max  Winkelmann,  the  son  of  the 
rich  manufacturer  by  whom  the  sisters  are  em- 
ployed at  decorative  art  work.  The  situation  is 
all  but  discovered  by  the  prospective  husband. 
The  Hergentheims,  desperately  loath  to  let  go  of 
Max,  on  whom  hangs  their  salvation  from  pinch- 
ing poverty,  resort  to  a  most  cruel  measure.  Max 
is  to  be  made  to  believe  that  not  Elsa  but  her 
youngest  sister  is  Kessler's  paramour.  Rosi,  who 
is  hardly  more  than  a  child,  is  forced  by  the 
rest  of  the  family  to  incriminate  herself  so  as  to 
clear  the  reputation  of  her  sister.  In  spite  of  her 
piteous  entreaties,  the  vicarious  sacrifice  is  actu- 
ally extorted  from  her,  and  that  in  the  presence 
of  Max,  whom  she  secretly  loves.  To  me  this  is 
the  most  revolting  scene  in  any  modern  play. 
However,  the  ruse  is  thwarted,  and  Max  and  Rosi 
are  allowed  to  make  each  other  happy.  This  sat- 
isfactory ending  does  not  make  a  comedy,  or 
Die  Ehre  would  have  to  be  so  classed.  Cer- 
tainly Die  Schmetterlingsschlacht  is  a  comedy 


SUDERMANN  59 

only  in  name.  It  is  too  grim  in  its  humor,  too 
acrimonious  in  its  mood,  to  dismiss  the  reader 
with  that  serenity  or  satisfaction  which  is  inva- 
riably derived  from  a  true  comedy.  In  spite  of 
the  happy  issue  the  play  is  unquestionably  very 
depressing. 

The  two  plays  that  have  just  been  discussed 
conclude  in  a  way  the  series  of  Sudermann's 
social  dramas,  strictly  so  called.  Though  social 
questions  are  by  no  means  banished  from  subse- 
quent plays,  they  are  henceforth  not  treated  with 
exclusive  reference  to  a  special  case  in  hand,  nor 
even  to  our  own  time ;  rather  they  are  considered 
from  a  higher,  more  general  human  outlook,  —  sub 
specie  aeterni.  This  larger  view,  which  in  itself 
need  not  be  optimistic,  is  plainly  indicated  in 
Morituri  (1897),  a  collection  of  three  one-act 
plays  without  any  organic  interrelation,  but  deal- 
ing variously,  as  we  shall  see,  with  one  and  the 
same  psychologic  theme. 

The  first  of  the  series  is  named  Teja.  It  is  the 
first  work  of  Sudermann  that  does  not  mirror  a 
view  of  modern  German  life,  for  it  throws  on  the 
stage  a  segment  of  that  Germanic  antiquity  with 
which  we  have  become  fairly  familiar  through  the 
writings  of  Gustav  Freytag,  Felix  Dahn,  William 


60  MODERN   GERMAN   LITERATURE 

Morris,  and  others.  The  hero  of  the  dramolet  is 
that  last  stern  king  of  the  Ostrogoths  who,  in  the 
lengthy,  changeful  struggle  for  existence  forced 
upon  the  Gothic  tribes  by  Rome  and  Byzantium, 
laid  down  his  life,  together  with  the  lives  of  his 
men. 

Sudermann  has  brightened  up  the  tragedy  of 
Teja's  end  and  at  the  same  time  raised  it  to  a 
nobler  pitch.  This  is  the  story  as  told  in  the  play. 
The  Gothic  host  has  dwindled  down  to  a  mere 
handful  of  half-famished  warriors  who,  intrenched 
in  their  impregnable  position,  confidently  await 
the  arrival  of  supplies.  Every  minute  the  pro- 
vision ships  are  expected  to  heave  in  sight.  At 
this  time  of  breathless  suspense  the  Goths,  obe- 
dient to  an  ancient  law,  have  chosen  a  wife  for 
their  king.  The  gloomy  Teja  has  submitted  with 
resigned  indifference  to  the  will  of  his  people. 
This  is  his  wedding  day.  Bishop  Agila  has  just 
finished  the  marriage  sermon.  But  all  through 
the  ceremony  Teja's  thoughts  have  wandered  out 
to  the  ships  that  are  so  eagerly  watched  for.  For 
them,  and  the  fate  of  his  people,  for  nothing  else, 
does  he  care.  Almost  immediately  after  the  wed- 
ding he  learns  that  treachery  has  delivered  the 
fleet  into  the  hand  of  the  enemy.  There  is  no 


SUDERMANN  6 1 

hope  left  for  the  Goths  to  grasp  at.  They  have 
only  one  alternative:  they  may  slowly  and  igno- 
bly perish  of  hunger  among  the  rocky  hollows  of 
Vesuvius,  or  they  may  make  a  sortie  and  be 
slaughtered  like  cattle  by  the  Hunnish  butchers. 
Of  course  they  choose  the  battle.  The  brave  little 
band  makes  ready  to  seal  with  their  blood  the 
death  warrant  of  their  race.  Dulce  est  pro  patria 
mori  !  But  they  cannot  go  joyfully  to  their  death, 
for  they  are  a  vagabond  tribe;  their  only  home  is 
the  camp,  where  dwell  also  their  wives  and  chil- 
dren. These  they  are  permitted  to  visit  for  the 
last  time.  But  they  are  enjoined  to  take  silent 
leave,  for  the  king  would  not  have  even  one  of 
them  unstrung  by  the  tears  and  wailings  of 
the  women.  The  sequel  shows  that  the  woman- 
hating  king  does  injustice  to  the  Gothic  maids 
and  matrons.  The  first  to  convert  him  to  a  better 
opinion  is  his  lovely  Queen  Bathilda.  The  whole 
pathos  of  Teja's  life  is  compacted  into  the  brief 
scene.  In  the  eleventh  hour  the  doomed  man  has 
learned  for  the  first  time  to  know  happiness.  He 
has  laughed  and  frolicked  with  his  bride  till  the 
moment  when  she  must  be  told.  She  accepts  the 
inevitable  with  nai've  heroism;  without  any  wild 
outburst  of  grief  and  despair  she  calmly  kisses  her 


62  MODERN   GERMAN   LITERATURE 

husband's  brow,  thus  consecrating  him  to  death. 
Teja's  eyes  are  opening  more  and  more.  In  the 
last  scene  he  says  to  the  bishop  :  "  I  have  insulted 
you  this  evening.  Forgive  me  and  accept  my 
thanks,  for  now  I  also  know  why  the  Goth  loves 
death."  He  seizes  his  sword,  then  to  his  men : 
"Well,  are  you  ready?  Is  the  farewell  over?  " 

Theodemir :  My  lord,  we  have  acted  contrary 
to  your  orders.  Which  of  our  women  guessed 
it  and  which  one  of  us  told  it  is  hard  to  say. 
Enough,  they  all  know  it. 

Teja:  And  so  they  set  up  a  great  lamenta- 
tion? 

Theodemir:  My  lord,  they  silently  blessed  us 
with  the  kiss  of  death. 

Teja  (startled,  half  to  himself}:  They  too! 
(Aloud}  Verily,  we  are  a  race  of  kings.  Oh,  the 
pity  of  our  fate !  Forward !  (He  walks  towards 
tlie  background.  The  rest  follow.  The  curtain 
falls  amid  the  deafening  cheers  of  the  people  greet- 
ing its  king} 

The  theme  of  the  masterly  dramatic  anecdote 
may  be  said  to  be  the  psychologic  reaction  of 
a  character  under  the  sudden  certitude  of  death, 
and  by  this  general  problem  Teja  is  closely  inter- 
linked with  the  second,  and,  in  my  judgment, 


SUDERMANN  63 

the  best  part  not  only  of  the  collection  but  of 
Sudermann's  dramatic  work  in  its  entirety. 

It  is  entitled  Fritzchen,  deals  with  the  present, 
and  serves  as  a  species  of  epilogue  to  Die  Ehre. 
A  boy  lieutenant  of  the  Prussian  army,  a  good- 
natured,  happy-go-lucky  sort  of  a  chap,  has  a 
liaison  with  a  married  woman.  The  wronged  hus- 
band horsewhips  him  out  of  the  house.  Under 
the  code  of  honor  which  obtains  in  the  German 
army  nothing  can  now  avert  a  catastrophe.  This 
code  of  honor,  as  everybody  knows,  does  not 
shine  for  its  logic.  It  generously  condones  many 
sins  and  peccadillos.  The  violation  of  the  seventh 
commandment  would  not  of  itself  hurt  Fritzchen 
greatly  in  the  eyes  of  his  comrades.  But  the  code 
never  relents  towards  the  officer  who  has  suffered 
chastisement  without  taking  bloody  personal 
revenge.  The  still-remembered  Affaire  Briise- 
witz  and  sundry  like  occurrences  have  served 
to  enlighten  the  uninitiated  as  to  the  reason  why 
the  German  officer  in  times  of  peace  carries  a  keen- 
edged  blade  in  the  scabbard  which  we  have  heard 
clatter  so  smartly  on  the  sidewalks  of  German 
cities.  Now  Fritzchen  has  been  punished  shame- 
fully, and  has  not  defended  himself,  because  his 
saber  was — not  at  hand.  He  may  therefore  thank 


64  MODERN   GERMAN   LITERATURE 

his  lucky  stars  if  the  verdict  of  the  regimental 
Council  of  Honor  to  which  the  affair  has  been 
referred  is  in  favor  of  a  duel ;  for  an  adverse  deci- 
sion would  signify  undying  disgrace  for  Fritzchen. 
He  has  come  on  a  hurried  farewell  visit  to  his 
home.  Here,  by  prearrangement,  he  receives  the 
message :  A  duel  has  been  decided  on  and  must 
be  fought  early  on  the  morrow.  Herr  von  Lanski 
is  a  superior  marksman  and,  as  the  challenged, 
will  lead  off  in  the  exchange  of  bullets.  Fritzchen, 
accordingly,  is  a  doomed  man.  Moreover,  it  is 
plainly  hinted  that  he  has  made  up  his  mind  to 
fall  in  the  duel.  With  consummate  skill  and,  as 
one  German  critic  well  puts  it,  "  unexampled  dra- 
matic laconism,"  the  author  now  undertakes  to 
show  how  the  pampered  young  viveur,  who  in 
pursuance  of  his  father's  fatal  advice  has  early 
sown  his  full  measure  of  wild  oats  against  the 
time  of  his  manorial  existence,  turns  sober  in  the 
face  of  death.  In  his  hour  of  gloom  his  manly 
virtues  come  to  the  fore.  As  he  hurriedly  reviews 
his  squandered  life  there  flits  across  his  vision  a 
picture  of  that  domestic  happiness  he  would  have 
elected  had  he  not  allowed  himself  to  be  swerved 
aside  from  his  natural  bent  by  the  traditions  of 
his  house.  His  home,  his  love,  his  prospects,  they 


SUDERMANN  65 

are  all  in  this  sphere.  But  he  is  done  with  pros- 
pects, with  love,  with  life  itself.  The  brief  tragedy 
speeds  from  scene  to  scene,  with  a  terrible  incre- 
mental force,  till  the  climax  is  reached  in  the  expla- 
nation between  father  and  son;  thence  without 
a  halt  to  the  most  painful  ordeal  reserved  for 
Fritzchen,  —  the  leave-taking  from  his  invalid 
mother,  from  whom  the  truth  must  be  carefully 
kept.  The  pathos  of  this  parting  is  unspeakable, 
the  poor  boy  striving  heroically  to  hide  his  heart- 
ache under  a  boisterous  feigned  merriment ;  then 
at  last  with  tender  deception  leaving  home,  a  merry 
tune  on  his  lips,  as  he  goes  straightway  to  his  death. 
Das  Ewig-M'dnnliche  ("  The  Eternally-Mascu- 
line  "),  which  is  the  last  of  the  Morituri  collec- 
tion, is  designated  by  the  poet  as  a  fantasy  (Spiel). 
And,  to  tell  the  truth,  it  has  no  more  realism 
than  the  fairy  plays  (Mar chendr amen)  which  came 
into  vogue  about  the  time  of  its  origin.  In  its 
baroque  costuming,  this  one-act  comedy  brings 
to  mind  the  preciosity  of  the  age  of  Louis  XIV, 
immortally  satirized  by  Moliere.  As,  however, 
Sudermann's  satire  is  not  directed  against  any- 
body in  particular,  the  dramatis  personae  are 
labeled  in  a  general  way  as  "  Queen,"  "  Marshal 
of  the  Court,"  "  Ladies-in-waiting,"  "  Marquis 


66  MODERN   GERMAN   LITERATURE 

in  pale  blue,"  "  Marquis  in  pink,"  "  Painter," 
etc.,  very  much  as  in  Goethe's  Die  naturliche 
Tackier. 

In  contradistinction  to  all  previous  plays  of 
Sudermann,  Das  Ewig-M'dnnliche  is  written  in 
verse,  nay  more,  in  rime.  The  example  of  the 
author's  ingenious  friend,  Ludwig  Fulda,  may 
have  had  something  to  do  with  that.  As  in  the 
rimed  comedies  of  Fulda,  it  should  be  added, 
so  here  the  language  fairly  scintillates  with  epi- 
gram and  witticism.  The  play  deals  apparently, 
like  its  two  companion  pieces,  with  the  spiritual 
state  of  a  character  unexpectedly  confronted  with 
death.  An  artist  who  is  painting  the  Queen's 
portrait  is  made  bold  by  the  provoking  coquetry 
of  the  royal  model.  She  listens,  alarmed  but 
not  displeased.  The  scene  is  interrupted  by  the 
Marshal,  who,  himself  in  love  with  the  Queen, 
is  ordered  by  her  with  great  presence  of  mind  to 
cool  his  rival's  ardor.  The  two  men  face  each 
other  after  the  manner  of  Tasso  and  Antonio 
in  Goethe's  Torquato  Tasso,  the  part  of  greater 
practical  wisdom  falling  this  time  to  the  politic 
artist.  As  a  sensible  man  he  realizes  that  he  has 
no  better  chances  against  the  Marshal's  sword 
than  the  latter  would  have  against  his  paint  brush. 


SUDERMANN  67 

And  so  he  proceeds  cleverly  to  enlighten  the  love- 
blind  warrior  on  the  un worthiness  of  his  idol. 
With  the  Marshal's  consent  and  cooperation  he 
improvises  a  little  tragi-comedy ;  and  when  the 
Marshal,  feigning  death,  gets  a  humiliating  insight 
into  the  true  inwardness  of  the  adored  woman, 
artist  and  courtier,  arm  in  arm,  go  merrily  into 
exile,  leaving  the  handsome  Jean,  the  Queen's  im- 
pudent waiting-man,  alone  in  the  field  as  repre- 
sentative of  the  "  Eternally-Masculine." 

It  has  been  shown  that  the  three  dramas  do  not 
constitute,  in  any  dramaturgic  sense,  a  miniature 
trilogy.  The  collective  title  is  justified  by  a  cen- 
tral idea;  the  difference  hinges  on  the  relations 
of  men  to  ideals  which  vary  with  clime  and  time. 
In  Teja  we  see  the  manifestation  of  a  wholly  ethnic 
consciousness,  in  Fritzchen  the  hero's  conduct  is 
inspired  by  sectional  or  specific  class  ethics.  Das 
Ewig- Mannliche  is  an  almost  cynical  reversal  of 
the  Fritzchen  tragedy,  two  men  of  force  and  value 
barely  escaping  the  social  folly  of  sacrificing  life 
and  limb  to  a  vapid  convention. 

Sudermann's  next  play  brought  a  surprise  to 
his  friends  as  well  as  to  his  adversaries.  It  was 
a  biblical  tragedy.  It  had  become  the  fashion  at 
that  time,  when  literary  art  had  practically  passed 


68  MODERN   GERMAN   LITERATURE 

out  of  extreme  naturalism,  to  nose  around  for  hid- 
den symbolism  in  every  new  work  of  fiction.  To 
seek  any  esoteric  meaning  in  Johannes  (1898), 
however,  is  to  look  for  disappointment.  Suder- 
mann's  hero  is  he  of  whom  it  is  written  in  the 
third  chapter  of  the  Evangelist  Matthew:  "In 
those  days  came  John  the  Baptist,  preaching  in 
the  wilderness  of  Judea,  and  saying,  Repent  ye: 
for  the  kingdom  of  heaven  is  at  hand.  For  this 
is  he  that  was  spoken  of  by  the  prophet  Esaias, 
saying,  The  voice  of  one  crying  in  the  wilderness, 
Prepare  ye  the  way  of  the  Lord,  make  his  paths 
straight.  And  the  same  John  had  his  raiment  of 
camel's  hair,  and  a  leathern  girdle  about  his  loins ; 
and  his  meat  was  locusts  and  wild  honey."  In 
the  New  Testament  the  tragic  ending  of  John  the 
Baptist  is  subtly  hinted  rather  than  fully  motived. 
Enough  is  left  unexplained  in  the  conduct  of  all 
concerned  to  have  tempted  more  than  one  writer 
to  venture  an  elaboration  of  the  brief  account. 
Sudermann's  aim  in  treating  the  subject  is  to 
secure  for  the  unfortunate  preacher  in  the  wilder- 
ness the  fullest  measure  of  our  human  sympathy. 
Let  us  see  to  what  extent  his  purpose  is  attained. 
The  forerunner  of  the  gentle  Nazarene  is  a  hard- 
and-fast-bound  Puritan,  chained  and  paralyzed  by 


SUDERMANN  69 

his  inflexible  asceticism,  without  real  understand- 
ing of  the  human  heart,  and  therefore  without  com- 
passion and  charity.  With  a  delicate  psychologic 
instinct  Sudermann  explains  the  fall  of  the  fanat- 
ical prophet  through  his  spiritual  awakening.  John 
at  first  imagines  the  Messiah  whom  he  heralds 
to  be  a  kingly  lord :  "  And  wouldst  thou  know, 
woman,  how  he  shall  come  ?  "  proclaims  the  Baptist 
in  act  iii,  scene  x;  "as  king  of  the  hosts,  cov- 
ered with  an  armor  of  gold,  his  sword  uplifted 
over  his  head,  he  will  come  to  save  the  Lord's 
own  people.  His  enemies  he  will  trample  under 
the  hoofs  of  his  steed,  but  the  young  men  of  Israel 
will  greet  him  exulting.  Behold,  O  woman,  thus 
shall  he  arrive."  The  Baptist's  fundamental  mis- 
conception of  his  mission  works  his  destruction 
so  soon  as  he,  the  fanatic  of  rabbinical  lore,  loses 
the  absolute  faith  in  himself;  so  soon  as  the 
Mightier  One  cometh  after  him,  the  latchet  of 
whose  shoe  he  is  unworthy  to  unloose ;  so  soon  as 
he  shudderingly  opens  his  eyes  and  finds  himself 
unequal  to  the  work  he  has  set  out  to  do.  John's 
fate  is  akin  to  Hamlet's:  destiny  has  imposed  a 
task  upon  him  for  which  he  is  morally  unpre- 
pared. The  gradual  conversion  of  such  a  char- 
acter from  mere  virtuous  rigor  to  real  humanity 


70  MODERN   GERMAN   LITERATURE 

supplies  a  theme  not  only  of  dramatic  but  of 
intense  religious  interest.  Sudermann's  play  may 
be  called,  by  a  figure  of  speech,  a  tract  raised  to  the 
power  of  art,  a  comparison  borne  out,  among  other 
ways,  by  the  archaic  solemnity  of  its  language. 
The  story  of  John  the  Baptist  as  told  in  the  Gos- 
pels of  Matthew,  Mark,  and  Luke  is  greatly  elab- 
orated for  the  psychologic  purpose  of  the  play. 
The  following  is  an  outline  of  the  plot. 

The  Jewish  people  writhes  in  the  fetters  of  a 
twofold  tyranny.  Whatever  of  vitality  is  left  to  it 
by  the  Roman  oppressors  is  slowly  sapped  by  the 
Jews'  own  theocratic  "Law,"  debased  by  bigotry 
and  priestcraft  to  a  heart-and-soul-killing  ritualism. 
The  mass  of  the  people,  instead  of  being  quick- 
ened at  the  fount  of  a  living  religion,  are  put  off 
with  empty  formulae ;  thus  they  have  turned  into 
a  race  of  pessimists  who,  despairing  of  their  power 
of  self-redemption,  strain  their  longing  eyes  to 
descry  the  Messiah  of  the  prophetic  message, 
"  whose  fan  is  in  his  hand,  and  he  will  thoroughly 
purge  his  floor,  and  will  gather  the  wheat  into  his 
garner;  but  the  chaff  he  will  burn  with  fire  un- 
quenchable" (Luke  iii,  17).  John  himself  is  held 
by  a  portion  of  the  people  to  be  the  prophesied. 
But  his  own  consciousness  tells  him  better:  he  is 


SUDERMANN  7 i 

but  the  harbinger  of  the  Saviour.  In  this  convic- 
tion the  other-worldly  man  assumes  provisionally 
the  part  of  a  popular  leader  for  which  he  is  so  ill 
made.  We  find  him  at  Jerusalem,  inciting  the 
populace  against  the  Tetrarch  who,  with  brazen 
adultery,  has  just  flung  a  fatal  insult  at  the  pure 
family  morals  of  the  Israelites.  But  at  the  very 
start  the  hermit  pines  for  his  desert :  "  Am  I  set 
as  a  lord  over  this  people?  Let  the  shepherd 
drive  his  flock  through  thorns  or  flowers.  I  thirst 
for  solitude.  I  long  for  my  rocks."  Only  by  stern 
constraint  from  within  and  without  does  he  remain 
at  the  head  of  the  insurrection,  a  general  without 
a  plan  of  campaign,  a  leader  who  knows  not  the 
way.  While  he  broods  in  this  state  of  uncertainty 
the  word  of  Simon  the  Galilean  strikes  root  in  his 
soul:  "Higher  than  law  and  sacrifice  is  love,"  and 
there  is  implanted  in  his  soul  the  leaven  of  destruc- 
tion; for  the  same  message  which  paves  for  him 
the  way  to  a  riper  understanding  unmans  him 
completely  for  his  political  enterprise:  "Ye  chil- 
dren of  men,  there  is  in  your  souls  a  roaring  as  of 
many  waters  clear  and  troubled ;  I  am  to  gather 
all  these  into  a  mighty  river,  and  I  feel  that  I  shall 
drown  therein."  Even  yet  he  remains  unyieldingly 
loyal  to  the  old  Messianic  illusion,  till  he  learns 


72  MODERN   GERMAN   LITERATURE 

with  dismay  from  the  lips  of  a  beggar  woman  that 
his  message  holds  no  comfort  for  them  that  labor 
and  are  heavy  laden,  that  these  do  not  want  his 
golden-panoplied  Messiah. 

Mesuhmeth:  Take  thy  message  elsewhere.  I 
will  none  of  it. 

John:  What?    You  will  none  of  the  Messiah? 

Mesulemeth :  Not  him,  —  not  that  one.  For  so 
many  have  come  before  clad  in  golden  panoplies 
and  have  raised  the  sword  so  often  that  Israel 
bleeds  like  a  sacrificial  beast.  Nor  shall  he  be  a 
king.  When  kings  come,  they  come  for  the  kings. 
To  us  poor  none  has  ever  come.  Begone,  O 
stranger !  Thou  strikest  at  my  remnant  of  hope. 
Go !  thou  art  a  false  prophet.  Go !  let  me  lie  by 
the  wayside. 

The  sting  of  this  rebuke  rankles  in  John's 
troubled  soul.  Just  as  he  is  making  ready  to  lead 
the  people  against  the  sinful  Tetrarch,  the  com- 
mandment that  we  should  love  our  enemy,  pro- 
claimed in  the  land  of  Galilee  by  Jesus  whom  he 
baptized,  comes  to  John  and  makes  his  hand  drop 
the  stone  already  raised  against  Herod.  And  this  is 
the  end  of  his  leadership.  In  my  opinion  the  whole 
plot  gravitates  toward  this  internal  conflict,  and 
not,  as  some  have  thought,  about  the  temptation 


SUDERMANN  73 

of  the  Baptist  by  Salome.  In  the  soul  of  John  the 
Baptist  the  same  struggle  goes  on  between  the 
old  time  and  the  new  which  we  have  already  wit- 
nessed in  Sudermann's  social  plays ;  but  this  time 
the  issue  involves  the  fundamental  history-shaping 
attitude  toward  life,  and  the  decision  is  therefore 
wider  in  its  bearing.  The  drama  attains  its  pur- 
pose so  soon  as  the  power  of  the  new  spiritual 
interpretation  of  life  which  we  call  Christianity 
has  conquered  the  theocratic  world  view  in  the 
sentiment  and  will  of  the  hero;  then  John  may 
calmly  yield  up  his  life  for  the  new  certainty :  "  I 
hear  all  around  me  a  mighty  roaring,  and  the 
blessed  light  well-nigh  envelops  me.  ...  A  throne 
has  descended  from  the  heavens  with  pillars  of 
fire.  And  on  it  sits,  clad  in  white  raiment,  the 
Prince  of  Peace.  And  his  sword  is  named  '  Love,' 
and  'Charity'  is  his  battle  cry."  It  is  a  fitter  close 
for  this  tragedy  of  a  human  soul  than  any  other 
Sudermann  might  have  invented,  that  directly  after 
the  beheading  of  John  the  Baptist  loud,  exultant 
hosannas  announce  the  entry  of  the  Nazarene 
into  Jerusalem. 

With  all  his  force  and  skill  and  depth  of  con- 
viction Sudermann  does  not  fully  attain  his  im- 
mediate object  of  compelling  a  fellow-feeling  for 


74  MODERN   GERMAN    LITERATURE 

Johannes  on  the  part  of  the  beholder,  and  thus  he 
misses,  in  part  at  least,  the  object  of  all  tragedy, 
which  is  to  awaken  pity  and  fear.  Only  when, 
through  the  unraveling  of  the  human  fate  to 
which  we  are  made  privy,  we  are  made  to  beat 
our  breasts,  and  when  the  Mahavakya,  the  "  great 
word  "  of  the  Vedas :  Tat  tvdm  asi  ("  This  is  thou  "), 
rises  spontaneously  to  our  lips,  only  then  may  the 
poet  glory  in  having  set  free  those  potent  emo- 
tions. We  of  the  twentieth  century  have  too  little 
in  common  with  a  man  who  in  his  far-off  desert 
has  weaned  himself  from  all  passion  and  frailty, 
whose  nature  is  steeped  in  a  frigid,  forbidding  vir- 
tue, and  whose  personal  purity  is  but  the  lusterless 
reflection  of  a  gloomy,  loveless  self-righteousness. 
Herodias  speaks  from  our  own  hearts  when  she 
hurls  her  rebuke  against  the  unapproachable  saint: 
"  He  who  would  presume  to  be  a  judge  over  men 
must  have  a  share  in  their  lives  and  be  human 
with  his  fellows.  But  thou  seemest  to  dwell  in 
regions  so  far  away  that  even  the  throbbing  of 
the  human  heart  seems  to  thee  a  folly.  .  .  .  Thou 
hast  timidly  shrunk  from  every  sin,  retiring  like 
a  coward  into  the  solitude,  and  now  crawlest  forth 
to  call  others  guilty.  Maybe  the  fiery  winds  of 
the  desert  have  taught  thee  to  hate ;  but  what 


SUDERMANN  75 

knowest  thou  of  those  who  live  and  die  for  the 
sake  of  their  love  ? " 

For  yet  another  reason  John  the  Baptist  is  unfit 
to  be  the  hero  of  a  tragedy.  In  the  crisis  of  his 
dramatic  development,  when  at  last  the  true 
humanity  fires  his  whole  being,  he  cannot  lead 
mankind  forward  and  up  to  better,  higher  things, 
for  his  spiritual  energy  does  not  become  kinetic, 
he  is  only  a  passive,  uncreative  character. 

The  most  imposing  figure  in  the  play  is  the 
woman  Herodias.  Like  Lady  Macbeth,  she  is  an 
incarnation  of  ruthless,  violent  ambition.  She  has 
lent  a  willing  ear  to  the  wiles  of  Herod,  not  in 
order  to  earn  by  fawning  and  begging  a  daily 
offering  of  caresses,  not  for  the  gratification  of 
her  feminine  vanity,  but  in  order  to  have  absolute 
power  over  him:  to  be  not  his  mistress  but  his 
master.  John  shall  be  for  Herodias  the  ardently 
desired  tool  of  her  political  aggrandizement.  To 
purchase  so  rare  an  instrument  even  the  youthful 
charms  of  her  daughter  seem  not  too  high  a  price 
to  her.  It  is  seen  at  this  point  that  Sudermann, 
like  others  before  him,  seeks  to  motive  the  part  of 
Herodias  in  the  fate  of  John.  In  this  he  is  success- 
ful, but  far  less  successful  is  he  in  his  interpretation 
of  Salome's  ready  acquiescence  in  her  mother's 


76  MODERN   GERMAN   LITERATURE 

design.  To  the  adolescent  Salome  John  the  Bap- 
tist is  primarily  a  male,  no  more,  no  less.  In  her 
veins  the  wayward  blood  of  her  race  runs  riot. 
Her  premature,  unwholesome  sensuality  is  directed 
upon  the  shaggy  apostle,  not  despite  but  because 
of  his  singularity.  Thus  she  appears  tainted  with 
a  pathologic  perversity  and  seems  to  belong  not 
properly  to  the  world  of  the  New  Testament,  but 
rather  to  the  morbid  vaporings  of  an  August 
Strindberg,  Marcel  Prevost,  or  Catulle  Mendes. 
Quite  as  diseased  as  her  infatuation  for  the  wild 
man  from  Judea  is  her  revulsion  against  him  when 
he  scorns  her,  her  truculent  revenge,  and  her  sav- 
age triumph  over  the  victim's  severed  head. 

The  Herod  of  the  play  scarcely  deserves  men- 
tion :  a  slinking,  venal  degenerate  ;  the  fox  of  the 
Scriptures  (Luke  xiii,  31-32),  not  sly  enough  to 
be  more  than  a  cringing  pander  to  the  insolent 
Roman,  and  a  callow  puppet  in  the  hands  of  his 
concubine. 

Despite  the  freedom  with  which  the  story  of 
the  Baptist  as  told  by  the  Evangelists  is  treated, 
Sudermann's  Johannes  is  in  form  and  substance 
a  biblical  play;  hence  it  is  a  natural  desire  to 
draw  from  it  some  inference  as  to  the  poet's 
relation  to  the  Christian  faith. 


SUDERMANN  77 

In  this  regard  too,  as  in  all  others,  Sudermann 
is  found  to  be  a  modern  man.  The  time  is  hap- 
pily past  in  Germany  when  to  rail  or  sneer  at 
every  positive  religious  belief  was  to  give  evidence 
of  polish  and  intellectual  distinction.  On  the 
other  hand,  too,  the  divines  and  laymen  of  every 
creed  have  gradually  adopted  a  more  respectful 
and  tolerant  tone  toward  their  honest  adversaries. 
The  disposition  of  the  modern  German  who  lays 
claim  to  real  culture — that  is  to  say,  not  education 
of  the  mind  alone,  but  also  of  the  sensibilities — is 
to  bow  in  reverence  before  that  genuine  piety  in 
which  the  orthodox  Christian  and  Jew,  the  liberal, 
the  dissenter,  and  the  earnest  agnostic  have  a 
common  meeting  ground.  And  that  is,  at  the 
last,  the  religion  of  St.  John  the  Baptist.  It  con- 
sists in  the  same  genuine  godliness  which  was 
upheld  in  the  sixteenth  century  by  honest,  simple- 
hearted  Hans  Sachs,  when  during  the  high  tide  of 
religious  strife  he  naively  gave  it  as  his  opinion 
that  "  the  ancient  test  of  a  Christian  is  charity, 
and  not  the  eating  of  flesh,  for  cats  and  dogs  can 
do  that  too." 

Sudermann's  next  play,  Die  drei  Reiherfedern 
("  The  Three  Heron-Plumes")  (1898)  differs  curi- 
ously from  all  its  predecessors.  The  author  calls 


78  MODERN   GERMAN  LITERATURE 

it  "a  dramatic  poem";  in  reality  it  belongs  to  the 
class  of  the  fairy  play  and  may  be  grouped  with 
Hauptmann's  Die  versunkene  Glocke  and  Fulda's 
Der  Talisman,  albeit  the  M'drchen  in  Die  drei 
ReiJierfedern  is  constructed  by  Sudermann's  own 
fancy,  unaided  by  any  relationship  to  folklore  or 
mythology,  and  must  therefore  depend  upon  its 
intrinsic  fascination  for  whatever  interest  it  may 
enlist.  Once  before,  in  Das  Ewig-M'dnnliche, 
Sudermann  strayed  into  the  world  of  poetic  ca- 
price. The  dramatic  plot  in  "  The  Three  Heron- 
Plumes"  is  the  mere  vehicle  of  an  allegory,  and 
the  technical  treatment  is  in  frank  contravention 
of  the  naturalistic  prescript.  Here,  as  in  "  The 
Eternally-Masculine,"  we  find  types  and  not  real 
individuals,  if  we  except  at  most  Prince  Witte's 
fiercely  faithful  retainer,  the  rough,  colossal  Hans 
Lorbass,  baumlang  und  ungeschlacht,  as  he  is  de- 
scribed in  the  play.  The  hero  himself  lacks  dra- 
matic personality;  he  is  but  the  shadowy  symbol  of 
the  restless,  insatiable  cravings  of  an  idealist  with 
those  same  emotional  aspirations  which  so  many 
German  poets  have  felt  tempted  to  fathom.  "  The 
tireless  child  of  Desire"  he  calls  himself,  and  he 
is,  indeed,  a  literary  cousin  of  Faust,  Don  Juan, 
and  Master  Heinrich  the  bell-founder. 


SUDERMANN  79 

It  is  his  tragical  destiny  to  spend  his  life  in  a 
forlorn  chase  after  the  happiness  which  all  the 
time  he  holds  unwittingly  in  his  grasp.  Sent  on 
an  adventurous  expedition  by  the  graveyard  witch 
(Begrabnisfrau\  a  character  that  calls  to  mind 
Hauptmann's  Granny  Wittichen,  Prince  Witte 
takes  from  a  sacred  white  heron  three  feathers 
which  possess  magic  power.  If  he  throws  the 
first  of  them  into  the  flames,  Witte  will  behold 
the  dim  likeness  of  his  ideal  woman,  the  blessing 
of  whose  love  is  to  illumine  his  existence.  When 
the  second  feather  is  burnt  that  woman  shall  ap- 
pear before  him,  walking  in  her  sleep.  But  when 
the  third  feather  falls  to  ashes  that  embodi- 
ment of  his  ideal  love  must  die.  Prince  Witte, 
just  returned,  puts  the  first  feather  to  the  test ;  the 
vague  outline  of  a  gigantic  woman  appears  on  the 
horizon  and  slowly  vanishes  into  the  air.  Her 
features  Witte  has  not  been  able  to  see.  If  ever 
he  meets  her,  how  shall  he  recognize  her?  Soon 
he  comes  to  the  court  of  the  beautiful  widowed 
queen  of  Samland,  who,  for  the  sake  of  her  people, 
has  promised  to  marry  him  who  shall  overcome 
all  other  suitors.  She  falls  in  love  with  Witte 
even  before  he  enters  the  lists  to  win  her,  but  he 
is  felled  to  the  ground  by  the  Duke  Widwolf,  his 


80  MODERN   GERMAN   LITERATURE 

bastard  brother,  the  same  who  drove  him  from 
his  inherited  dukedom  of  Gotland,  and  who  now 
claims  the  hand  of  the  queen  as  his  right.  How- 
ever, Lorbass,  with  the  queen's  warriors,  sets  upon 
the  insolent  usurper,  putting  him  and  all  his  fight- 
ing men  to  flight.  The  queen,  contrary  to  her 
sworn  promise,  marries  Prince  Witte,  who  is  to 
rule  over  the  land  until  his  little  stepson  shall 
have  come  of  age.  But  to  Witte's  hazy  longings 
after  the  unknown  love  and  his  disgust  with  the 
commonplace  are  superadded  the  pangs  of  con- 
science because  of  his  own  and  his  consort's  per- 
jury. Under  the  weight  of  remorse  his  activities 
slacken,  and  gradually  his  better  nature  falls  into 
a  torpor.  He  neglects  his  royal  office,  surrenders 
himself  to  wild  revelries,  and  allows  the  royal 
sword  to  grow  rusty.  Yet  his  soul  continues  to 
yearn  for  its  ideal.  While  in  this  torn  state  of 
mind  he  burns  the  second  plume  in  the  dead  of 
night.  To  his  amazement  his  own  wife  appears, 
walking  with  eyes  closed  in  sleep.  On  Witte  in 
his  blindness  the  coincidence  makes  no  impres- 
sion. He  bitterly  upbraids  the  queen,  whom  he 
suspects  of  spying  on  his  nightly  carousals,  and 
draws  away  from  her  farther  than  ever.  Sinking 
deeper  and  deeper  in  his  sloth,  he  at  last  refuses 


SUDERMANN  8 I 

to  head  his  people  against  Widwolf,  who  has  come 
to  wreak  his  vengeance.  As  a  last  heroic  remedy 
against  the  lethargic  apathy  of  the  king  the  rude 
giant  Lorbass,  —  in  this  play,  with  a  possible 
significance,  the  morals  of  the  overman  are  dele- 
gated to  a  subsidiary  character, —  having  read 
the  king's  mind,  determines  to  kill  the  young  heir 
apparent.  With  the  prince  out  of  the  way,  so 
he  reasons,  the  king  will  rise  to  his  ofHce,  for 
he  will  then  have  to  fight  for  his  own,  not  for  a 
"  borrowed"  kingdom !  But  even  as  Hauptmann's 
Poor  Heinrich  gains  a  saving  triumph  over  his 
selfishness,  so  King  Witte  is  roused  at  last  from 
his  culpable  indolence,  not  through  a  crime  but 
through  his  better  nature.  The  grim  Hans  Lor- 
bass, having  softened  at  the  critical  moment, 
returns  with  the  boy.  At  this  sight  the  king, 
who  has  been  crazed  by  self-accusations,  recovers 
himself.  With  zeal  he  assumes  his  royal  task  in 
the  nick  of  time.  His  valiant  arm  soon  lays  low 
the  enemy  who  storm  the  palace.  The  kingdom 
is  safe.  And  Witte  ?  Errette  mich  vom  Alltag! 
("  Deliver  me  from  the  everyday ! ")  With  this 
exclamation  he  demands  the  freedom  of  which  he 
has  dreamed  for  years.  Together  with  his  faithful 
Lorbass  he  leaves  his  "  purloined  "  grandeur  and 


82  MODERN   GERMAN   LITERATURE 

resumes  the  aimless  pursuit  of  his  hazy  ideal. 
After  fifteen  years  spent  in  a  vagabondage  full  of 
hardship  and  disappointment,  the  aging,  thor- 
oughly disillusioned  man  finds  himself  again  near 
the  hut  of  the  graveyard  hag,  broken  in  spirit 
and  weary  of  life.  His  eyes  have  begun  to  open 
to  the  fact  that  he  threw  away  his  happiness 
when  he  should  have  held  it  fast.  He  grasps  the 
whole  truth  when  the  queen  appears  on  the  scene, 
full  of  love  and  forgiveness.  Now  when  his  course 
is  nearly  run  he  realizes  that  he  has  misspent  his 
life  in  the  childish  pursuit  of  a  bubble.  In  order 
at  last  to  cast  off  the  spell  which  he  now  regards 
as  the  source  of  his  failure,  he  throws  the  third 
feather  into  the  fire.  As  the  flames  blaze  over 
the  mystic  plume  the  queen  sinks  to  the  ground 
dying.  And  with  the  cry  "Duwarst'sf"  Witte 
breaks  down  over  her  body. 

We  do  not  fail  to  notice  a  certain  parallel 
between  this  play  and  the  tragedy  of  John  the 
Baptist.  Both  men  are  led  into  destruction  by  a 
false  idealism.  As  John  still  looks  expectantly 
for  the  coming  of  the  gold-clad  Messiah  when  all 
the  while  Christ  in  his  spiritual  glory  is  walking 
on  earth,  so  Prince  Witte  consumes  himself  in  the 
idle  search  after  that  which  he  already  possesses,  — 


SUDERMANN  83 

the  magnanimous  love  of  a  perfect  woman.  "  The 
Three  Heron-Plumes"  is  a  work  of  great  poetic 
merit.  And  yet,  despite  its  many  beauties,  it 
is,  on  the  whole,  Sudermann's  least  successful 
work,  if  we  except  his  latest,  Der  Sturmgeselle 
Sokrates,  compared  to  which  everything  else 
he  has  ever  written  is  a  masterpiece.  Versatile 
though  he  is  to  an  unusual  degree,  his  genius  is 
hardly  adapted  to  romance  and  fairy  tale.  Suder- 
mann  is  too  much  a  man  of  the  modern  world, 
too  much  a  Northerner  and  a  Prussian.  As  he, 
possibly  more  than  any  other  writer  of  the  new 
generation,  draws  intellectual  breath  from  the 
atmosphere  of  criticism  which  pervades  our  times, 
he  is  at  his  best  when  dealing  with  those  ques- 
tions which  have  the  greatest  moral  actuality,  and 
with  which  it  is  consequently  wholly  legitimate 
and  proper  that  the  modern  play  and  the  modern 
novel  should  mostly  concern  themselves. 

The  plays  which  still  remain  for  discussion 
afford  Sudermann  that  opportunity.  The  first 
bears  the  symbolic  name  Johannisfeuer  ("  St. 
John's  Fire")  (1900).  The  meaning  of  the  sym- 
bolism in  the  play  is  made  clear  by  the  follow- 
ing declamatory  outpouring  of  the  leading  male 
character.  "In  every  one  of  us  there  smolders 


84  MODERN   GERMAN   LITERATURE 

a  spark  of  heathenism.  This  has  outlasted  the 
thousands  of  years  since  the  old  Germanic  times. 
Once  a  year  it  bursts  into  a  high  flame  and 
then  it  is  called  Johannisfeuer.  Once  a  year 
there  comes  a  night  of  liberty.  Yes,  yes,  a  night 
of  liberty.  Then  the  witches  ride  with  mock- 
ing laughter  up  the  Brocken  on  their  broom- 
sticks, the  same  broomsticks  with  which  at  other 
times  their  witchcraft  is  cudgeled  out  of  them. 
Then  the  Wild  Chase  passes  over  the  forest ; 
then  awaken  in  our  hearts  the  wild  desires 
which  life  has  not  fulfilled  and  which,  mark  me 
well,  it  could  not  fulfill.  For  no  matter  what  be 
the  name  of  the  law  that  for  the  time  happens 
to  rule  in  the  world,  —  in  order  that  the  one 
wish  may  be  realized  by  whose  grace  we  can 
spin  out  our  existence,  a  thousand  other  wishes 
must  perish  miserably:  some,  possibly,  because 
they  were  forever  unattainable,  others  —  well, 
others  because  we  have  allowed  them  to  flit  away 
like  wild  birds  over  which  our  hand  was  too  slow 
in  closing.  ...  Be  this  as  it  may,  once  a  year 
comes  the  night  when  we  are  free,  and  do  you 
know  what  it  is  that  blazes  yonder?  do  you  know? 
It  is  the  phantoms  of  our  deadened  desires;  it  is 
the  red  plumage  of  the  birds  of  paradise  which 


SUDERMANN  85 

perhaps  we  might  have  cherished  all  our  life  long, 
and  which  have  taken  wing  from  us;  it  is  the 
old  chaos;  it  is  the  heathenism  within  us.  And 
be  we  never  so  happy  in  the  sunshine  and  accord- 
ing to  law,  —  this  is  St.  John's  Eve.  To  its  old 
heathen  fires  I  pledge  my  glass;  this  night  may 
they  blaze  high  and  higher.1  —  Will  no  one  touch 
glasses  with  me  ?  "  (act  iii,  scene  iii).  We  can  well 
understand  why,  after  this  somewhat  extravagant 
tirade  of  Georg  von  Hartwig,  an  embarrassing 
silence  ensues  round  the  board  of  Squire  Vogel- 
reuter.  This  is  broken  at  last  by  the  heroine, 
Marikke,  who  with  trembling  hand  touches  her 
glass  to  Georg's  as  she  says  "  I  will,"  and  looks 
him  firmly  in  the  eye. 

In  two  breasts  the  fire  of  St.  John  breaks  out  in 
this  play,  which  ends  tragically  enough.  Though 
its  pages  flow  not  with  blood,  yet  two  lives  — 
herein  lies  the  tragedy  —  are  consumed  as  a  sac- 
rifice savory  in  the  nostrils  of  that  ruling  power, 
the  law,  —  the  morals  which  "  happen  for  the  time 
to  rule  the  world." 

Ethically  considered,  the  play  may  or  may 
not  mark  a  step  in  the  direction  of  the  author's 

1  The  pun  on  Hoch,  the  customary  ending  of  a  German  toast,  is 
lost  in  the  Englishing. 


86  MODERN  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

philosophic  reconciliation  with  that  power.  That 
would  depend  on  the  interpretation  of  the  out- 
come. Dramatically  considered,  it  certainly  gives 
no  proof  of  advance.  The  play  suffers  from  the 
fact  that  Sudermann  has  this  time  yielded  too 
freely  to  his  strong  liking  for  effects.  Certain 
melodramatic  elements,  called  in  merely  for  deco- 
rative purposes,  have  unfortunately  sneaked  into 
the  inner  mechanism  of  "St.  John's  Fire."  These 
ornamental  features  include  more  than  the  double 
entendre  in  the  name  of  the  play,  the  importation 
of  symbolical  illustrations,  and  notably  the  facti- 
tious interspersion  of  the  dialogue  with  bits  from 
the  author's  commentary  on  his  own  work,  such 
as  we  hear  in  Die  Ehre  from  Count  Trast,  and 
in  Sodoms  Ende  from  Dr.  Weisse  and  Professor 
Riemann,  or  in  Die  Schmetterlingsschlacht  from 
the  invaluable  Kessler. 

With  these,  on  the  whole,  'we  need  have  no 
quarrel  in  a  dramatist  who  does  not  pose  as  a 
naturalist  and  probably  has  no  special  aptitude  in 
that  direction.  The  ideal  drama,  of  course,  should 
be  self-explanatory.  But  even  greater  playwrights 
than  Sudermann  —  and  that  is  saying  not  a  little 
—  have  fallen  back  on  the  same  devices  as  he. 
Within  aesthetic  limits  a  writer  is  privileged  to 


SUDERMANN  87 

introduce  Stimmungsmittel,  that  is  to  superin- 
duce artificially  the  effect  of  his  work.  At  most 
we  may  raise  an  objection  against  his  almost  in- 
sulting plainness  in  the  explanation  of  things  that 
are  sufficiently  clear  in  themselves.  Georg's  toast 
certainly  verges  dangerously  on  the  haec  fabula 
docet.  Besides,  the  parallelism  between  fact  and 
symbol  need  not  be  accentuated  so  much  through- 
out the  drama.  The  story  gains  nothing  in  prob- 
ability from  the  circumstance  that  the  outbreak  of 
Georg's  and  Marikke's  mutal  infatuation  is  made 
simultaneous  with  the  bonfires  of  St.  John's  Eve. 
It  is  sufficiently  dramatic  in  its  true  inwardness. 
The  picture  could  have  well  dispensed  with  the 
excessive  ornament  of  its  symbolic  frame.  Let 
that  pass.  But  Sudermann,  as  was  said  above, 
goes  to  obnoxious  lengths  in  touching  up  the 
sober  tragedy  of  this  play  with  melodramatic 
effects.  He  ransacks  the  Thespian  van  of  itiner- 
ant barn-stormers,  where  he  discovers  his  female 
tramp,  the  Weszkalnene.  He  stirs  up  the  lumber 
room  of  Italian  opera  and  culls  a  meaning  refer- 
ence to  the  fatal  Mancheneel-tree  of  Meyerbeer's 
L1  Africaine.  He  even  plants  an  exotic  tree  of 
his  own,  the  Liriodendron  Tulipifera  of  the  second 
act,  and  he  shows  half  a  mind  to  turn  its  blossoms 


88  MODERN   GERMAN   LITERATURE 

to  tragic  account ;  but  remembering,  it  may  be,  that 
he  himself  has  done  his  share  towards  destroying 
the  credit  of  fate-bringing  vegetables  and  similar 
stage  properties,  he  happily  desists  from  the  pur- 
pose. For  after  the  flowering  twig  is  dropped 
and  the  tarred  barrels  are  burnt  out,  real  forces, 
potent  and  plausible,  are  seen  to  be  responsible 
for  the  sequel. 

First  of  all  is  the  moral  organization  of  the 
two  central  figures,  their  temperament,  by  which 
their  fall  and  fate  are  predetermined.  Here  it  is 
heredity  that  reveals  itself  as  nowhere  else  in 
Sudermann's  plays.  Georg  comes  of  a  master- 
ful race,  hence  he  belongs  to  the  "  Herren- 
menscken"  albeit  he  is  a  weak  specimen  of  this 
strong  modern  genus.  Marikke,  on  the  other 
hand,  being  the  daughter  of  a  drunken,  thievish 
beggar  woman,  it  follows,  according  to  Suder- 
mann's theory  of  the  transmission  of  traits,  that 
she  must  steal.  But  whereas  the  old  Lithu- 
anian wretch,  her  mother,  is  principally  out  for 
food  and  underclothing,  the  daughter  —  what  a 
singular  form  of  kleptomania!  —  cannot  resist  an 
impulse  to  steal  her  portion  of  happiness.  Meine 
Mutter  stiehlt.  Ich  stehle  auch  !  It  is  with  these 
words  that  she  throws  herself  away.  The  sweet, 


SUDERMANN  89 

housewifely  girl  whom  they  all  call  Heimchen 
("  the  cricket  on  the  hearth"),  and  who,  though  a 
poor  foundling,  has  been  tenderly  reared  by  the 
Vogelreuters,  is  driven  to  her  ruin  by  a  mingled 
feeling  of  love,  sensual  impulse,  generosity,  and 
—  this  is  the  element  incongruous  with  the  gen- 
eral view  of  her  character  —  reckless,  fatalistic 
insouciance.  The  outlines  of  these  two  principal 
characters  as  sketched  in  by  the  author  are 
plainly  discernible.  Unfortunately  the  figures  do 
not  fit  themselves  to  the  contours.  Georg  has 
no  true  kinship  with  the  "  Master  Folk."  At  bot- 
tom he  is  a  boastful,  vacillating,  and  selfish  phil- 
istine.  This,  his  real  nature,  is  not  disclosed  to 
those  about  him,  nor  to  himself,  —  if  at  least  the 
playwright  saw  through  him !  But  we  have  the 
feeling  that  such  is  not  the  case,  hence  our  own 
puzzled  state.  It  must  be  admitted  that  just  as 
there  are  inscrutable  characters  in  life,  so  certain 
dramatic  characters  of  great  depth,  like  Hamlet, 
Faust,  Wallenstein,  baffle  offhand  interpretation. 
As  a  rule,  however,  the  character  that  fails  to  body 
forth  unquestionably  the  author's  real  conception 
is  to  be  regarded  as  a  dramatic  miscarriage. 

Beside   the    not  altogether  adequate  account- 
ing for  the  tragedy  through  the  driving  force  of 


90  MODERN  GERMAN   LITERATURE 

congenital  character,  there  is  put  in  commission 
an  auxiliary  course  of  events  which  leads  the  prin- 
cipals straight  to  the  trapdoor  of  destiny.  Georg 
von  Hartwig  is,  like  Marikke,  a  Notstandskind 
laid  under  an  oppressive  debt  of  gratitude.  After 
his  father's  suicide  Georg  has  been  educated 
through  the  generosity  of  his  uncle  Vogelreuter. 
While  yet  a  schoolboy  he  has  fallen  in  love  with 
Marikke.  She,  however,  has  not  realized  the  depth 
of  his  affection  for  her,  and  he  has  imagined 
himself  scorned.  The  play  opens  four  days  prior 
to  the  marriage  of  Georg  to  Trude  Vogelreuter, 
a  sweet,  clinging  damosel  with  a  heartful  of  love 
and  a  thimbleful  of  brains.  The  match,  as  far 
as  Georg  is  concerned,  is  to  be  conceived  partly 
as  a  requital  of  past  benefits  received  from  his 
uncle,  and  partly  as  a  mariage  de  deft,  to  spite  the 
Heimchen.  The  dramatic  argumentation  of  both 
points,  however,  is  unsupported  by  cogent  evi- 
dence. We  only  learn  that  in  those  past  days 
Marikke  has  repelled  with  natural  pride  the 
demonstrations  of  the  youngster's  callow  affec- 
tion. So,  for  instance,  one  day  when  he  followed 
her  into  the  cellar  she  managed  to  lock  the 
ardent  lover  in  for  a  whole  night,  with  the  hope, 
possibly,  of  reducing  his  spirits  to  the  temperature 


SUDERMANN  91 

and  harmlessness  of  the  milk  stored  there.  After 
that  the  facile  psychologist  considered  his  fate 
as  sealed.  "  And  since  things  had  come  to  such 
a  pass  that  I  could  not  get  you,"  he  explains 
in  act  iii,  "  I  afterward  took  Trude."  Then  this 
brilliant  reader  of  the  feminine  mind  adds,  won- 
deringly,  "  Have  you  never  realized  that  this 
was  the  way  things  hung  together  ? "  At  the 
critical  moment,  when  the  Heimchen's  repressed 
temperament  is  set  aflame  by  the  reappearance 
of  Georg,  two  events  ripen  the  catastrophe :  the 
discovery  of  Georg's  early  love  for  her  through 
some  boyish  poetry  that  turns  up  in  an  old 
drawer ;  and  the  arrival  of  her  mother,  the  dis- 
solute Weszkalnene,  by  which  Marikke  is  thrown 
into  a  state  of  the  utmost  self-depreciation. 

Marikke,  then,  "  steals "  her  bit  of  happiness, 
but  magnanimously  rejects  Georg's  half-hearted 
offer  to  break  off  the  marriage  with  Trude.  It 
is  at  this  point  that  the  internal  dramatic  work- 
ings seem  leavened  with  the  ethical  policy  of  the 
author,  in  that  Georg  and  Marikke  subordinate 
their  love  to  a  tender  regard  for  their  responsi- 
bilities to  the  family.  The  play  ends  with  Georg 
and  Trude  going  to  the  altar  as  if  nothing  had 
happened,  while  Marikke  looks  after  them,  her 


92  MODERN   GERMAN   LITERATURE 

handkerchief  between  her  teeth  to  stifle  the  out- 
cry of  her  anguish.  If  there  is  any  "  lesson  "  in 
this  bourgeois  ending,  it  seems  to  the  superficial 
observer  as  though  it  can  hardly  be  other  than 
approbation,  for  once,  of  social  authority,  and  a 
rebuff  for  insubordination  of  the  individual.  A 
play  with  such  a  message  would  seem  to  show  the 
author  of  "Magda"  and  "Honor"  in  the  attitude 
either  of  a  convert  or  of  a  renegade.  Before  we 
jump  to  such  a  rash  conclusion,  however,  it  is 
well  to  pause  before  two  other  possibilities.  May 
it  not  be  that  the  ending  of  the  play  is  either 
a  grim  satire  or  an  uninterpreted  illustration  of 
reality?  The  last  is  certainly  the  least  probable, 
for  we  have  seen  heretofore  that  Sudermann  is 
not  in  the  habit  of  keeping  back  his  opinion. 
Johannisfeuer  is  weaker  than  it  would  be  if  this 
large  question  were  not  left  open.  Yet  even  now, 
if  we  look  in  some  detail  at  the  remainder  of 
Sudermann's  recent  works,  they  may  help  to  dis- 
close the  real  meaning  of  this  one. 

The  moral  tone  of  the  tragedy  Es  lebe  das 
Leben  ("The  Joy  of  Living")  (1902)  argues  con- 
clusively against  a  radical  change  of  front  in  the 
current  ethical  phase  of  Sudermann's  literary 
activity. 


SUDERMANN  93 

Its  burden  is  the  exaltation  of  a  life  intense 
and  personal  over  the  drag  of  an  existence  con- 
ducted by  rule  of  thumb  in  the  interest  and  for 
the  convenience  of  the  species.  Yet  Sudermann 
indorses  very  positively  the  just  claims  of  society 
upon  the  individual.  There  is  abundant  happi- 
ness to  be  found  beyond  the  pale  of  the  law,  but 
the  purchase  price  is  so  high,  fortunately,  as  to 
frighten  off  all  but  a  few. 

For  the  first  time  Sudermann  in  "  The  Joy  of 
Living"  takes  us  into  German  high  life.  Count 
Kellinghausen,  prominent  member  of  the  conserv- 
ative party,  has  laid  down  his  electoral  mandate 
and  used  all  his  influence  for  the  election  of  his 
friend,  Baron  Richard  von  Volkerlingk.  The  sac- 
rifice of  his  own  political  preferment  has  been 
made  at  the  prompting  of  his  wife,  Beate,  who 
is  the  Egeria  of  the  party,  and  at  whose  table, 
" entre  poire  et  fromage"  the  fate  of  many  a  par- 
liamentary bill  has  been  sealed.  She  has  per- 
suaded Count  Michael  of  his  own  unfitness  for 
parliamentary  life,  and  has  convinced  him  that 
the  highest  interest  of  the  party  demands  that  he 
decline  his  reelection  in  favor  of  his  more  brilliant 
friend.  Under  her  wise  direction  Richard  von 
Volkerlingk  has  fully  developed  his  rare  political 


94  MODERN   GERMAN   LITERATURE 

powers.  His  son  Norbert,  under  the  same  in- 
fluence, has  matured  into  an  earnest  sociological 
thinker.  Norbert  loves  Countess  Beate  better 
than  his  own  mother  and  is  tacitly  accepted  as 
the  prospective  husband  of  her  daughter  Ellen. 
The  love  of  the  young  people  only  supplies  the 
rather  hackneyed  underplot.  The  pivotal  figures 
of  the  main  plot  are  Richard  von  Volkerlingk 
and  Beate  von  Kellinghausen.  They  have  known 
each  other  for  fifteen  years.  From  the  start 
they  have  been  intimate  friends,  soon  becoming 
lovers.  To  the  quiet  little  woman  that  Beate 
used  to  be,  Richard's  superior  mind  has  unlocked 
the  wealth  of  a  new  and  larger  life ;  under  his 
guidance  she  has  grown  to  be  a  woman  of  strength 
and  purpose,  able  to  repay  in  kind  by  becoming 
a  wise  counselor  to  Richard,  and  forming  the 
character  of  his  boy.  Their  culpable  relations 
have  mellowed  after  a  short  time  into  a  fraternal 
affection,  a  soul  companionship  from  which  both 
draw  the  courage  to  continue  their  lives.  Beate 's 
ambition  dreams  of  a  great  future  for  Richard, 
and  because  she  cannot  bear  to  see  his  talents 
lying  fallow,  she  creates  the  opportunity  for  him 
to  exercise  them.  Richard's  conscience  naturally 
recoils  from  so  great  an  indebtedness  to  the  man 


SUDERMANN  95 

whom  he  has  betrayed.  But  he  has  yielded  to 
Beate's  persuasion  and  has  just  been  returned 
to  Parliament.  In  the  impending  debate  on  the 
divorce  question  he  is  to  raise  his  voice  as  the  chief 
spokesman  of  his  party  in  defense  of  the  sacred- 
ness  and  indissolubility  of  marriage.  His  sense 
of  honor  is  greatly  disturbed  at  this ;  he  is  not 
a  man  who  can  make  shift  with  the  assumption 
that  people  will  be  guided  by  his  public  words, 
not  by  his  secret  actions.  He  feels  that  whatever 
he  says  in  his  political  capacity  should  be  uttered 
without  an  inward  contradiction.  Withal  he  is 
heart  and  soul  in  his  task.  The  suggestion  of 
a  tragical  ending  arises  spontaneously.  Richard 
may  appear  as  the  champion  of  morals  but  once. 
By  a  great  speech  he  may  decide  the  victory  of 
the  cause.  Then  in  the  midst  of  his  triumph  he 
may  certify  to  its  truthfulness  by  his  death.  To 
a  fecund  inventor  of  plots  like  Sudermann  this 
single  thread  seemed  too  slender,  so  it  is  ree'n- 
forced  by  a  political  intrigue  and  at  the  same  time 
by  the  frustration  of  Richard's  suicide  through  the 
ingenious  self-sacrifice  of  Beate.  For  her  action, 
of  course,  the  author  must  furnish  a  strong  motive, 
and  thus  Beate  becomes  from  this  point  on  the 
real  heroine  of  the  play. 


96  MODERN   GERMAN   LITERATURE 

Count  Michael  is  accidentally  informed  of  what 
he  firmly  believes  to  be  a  groundless  defamation 
of  his  house,  and  decides  to  punish  the  slanderer. 
He  has  perfect  confidence  in  his  wife  and  his 
friend,  but  lest  some  triviality  be  puffed  up  into 
a  serious  accusation  against  them,  he  wants  to 
know  if  they  have  any  recollection  of  any  detail 
in  their  mutual  relations  which  might  lend  the 
slightest  color  of  truth  to  the  charge  of  undue 
intimacy.  Finally  he  asks  for  Richard's  word  of 
honor  that  nothing  need  be  feared  in  the  way  of 
evidence.  Thus  very  unexpectedly  the  climax  is 
brought  on.  Richard  starts  to  "perjure  himself 
like  a  gentleman,"  but  Beate  prevents.  "  Now  he 
will  give  you  his  word  of  honor  and  then  he  will 
go  home  and  put  a  bullet  through  his  head."  At 
this  moment  she  stakes,  nay  more  than  that,  she 
surrenders  her  all  in  order  that  Richard  may  again 
be  at  one  with  himself,  once  the  great  lie  is  ousted 
from  his  life.  And  she  explains  to  her  husband 
in  this  confession  scene  why  she  has  lived  the  lie 
at  his  side  for  half  a  lifetime.  Suppose  she  had 
obtained  her  freedom,  and  Richard  his  too,  would 
she  not  have  completed  the  wrecking  of  his  life 
if  she  had  stuck  to  him  as  the  relic  of  a  past 
scandal  ?  Count  Michael  von  Kellinghausen,  after 


SUDERMANN  97 

this  crushing  exposure,  is  not  in  a  position  to  exact 
the  customary  satisfaction;  the  playwright  has 
crossed  his  purpose,  for  reason.  Before  Michael 
entered  upon  the  prosecution  of  the  slanderer  he 
had  to  pledge  his  word  to  his  political  friends  that 
the  party  should  be  carefully  protected  against 
the  taint  of  scandal.  Accordingly  a  settlement 
between  him  and  Richard  in  conformity  with  the 
ordinary  rules  of  the  code  of  honor  is  practically 
impossible.  By  a  dramatic  coup  de  force  Volker- 
lingk  junior  much  earlier  in  the  play  has  unwit- 
tingly pronounced  sentence  of  death  on  his  father. 
Being  the  author  of  a  pamphlet  on  the  question 
of  dueling  which  evinced  a  liberal  tendency  quite 
at  variance  with  the  views  of  his  social  circle,  he 
was  upholding  the  thesis  of  his  pamphlet  against 
Count  Michael  and  Baron  Richard,  who  both 
maintained,  from  different  positions,  that  in  cer- 
tain cases,  when  irreparable  offense  has  been 
given,  gentlemen  must  appeal  their  dispute  to  the 
decision  of  arms.  Norbert  expressed  the  opinion 
that  the  offender,  if  he  be  a  man  of  honor  and 
willing  to  make  atonement,  would  do  best  to  act 
as  his  own  judge. 

The  two  men  now  fall  back  on  Norbert's  ver- 
dict.    Richard  takes  a  reprieve  of  forty-eight  hours 


98  MODERN  GERMAN   LITERATURE 

to  arrange  his  affairs  in  a  way  to  leave  no  clew  to 
the  motive  of  his  suicide. 

The  dramatic  problem  in  the  last  two  acts  is 
to  bring  the  affair  to  a  conclusion  in  such  a  man- 
ner that  Beate's  great  sacrifice  shall  not  have  been 
in  vain.  The  tremendous  effect  of  Volkerlingk's 
speech  on  the  sanctity  of  marriage  has  opened 
before  him  the  possibilities  of  a  career  than  which 
no  living  man  has  achieved  a  more  splendid;  a 
career  which  nothing  but  a  scandal  can  blast. 
He  is  universally  regarded  as  the  coming  man. 
Beate  realizes  that  Richard  has  paid,  with  his 
resolution  to  die,  for  the  right  to  speak  as  he 
has  on  that  subject,  and  she  also  knows  that  by 
his  first  great  success  life  has  been  endeared  to 
him,  and  he  is  full  of  a  secret  avidity  to  live. 
Her  mind  is  made  up  to  save  him.  Her  own 
life,  in  constant  jeopardy  on  account  of  heart 
disease,  seems  to  her  a  more  suitable  sacrifice. 
If  she  dies,  so  Beate  calculates,  Volkerlingk  is 
bound  to  live  in  order  to  save  her  reputation  and 
the  happiness  of  the  young  couple.  She  induces 
her  husband  to  invite  Richard  to  a  gentlemen's 
gathering  so  as  to  nip  in  the  bud  any  rumors  of 
a  scandal.  Then  she  secures  Richard's  promise 
to  attend. 


SUDERMANN  99 

In  the  fifth  act,  which  is  marred  by  some  glar- 
ing theatricalities,  Count  Kellinghausen's  break- 
fast party  is  represented.  Beate,  who  is  the  only 
woman  present,  proposes  a  somewhat  exorbitant 
toast  to  the  joy  of  living.  With  the  words  "Es 
lebe  das  Leben  /"  she  drains  a  poisoned  cup.  A 
letter  left  behind  explains  to  her  husband  the 
purpose  of  her  death.  Michael  and  Richard  now 
realize  that  their  covenant  is  void.  Richard  may — 
nay,  must — live,  and  Michael  offers  no  opposition 
to  the  union  of  Ellen  and  Norbert.  And  yet  it 
cannot  be  asserted  that  the  end  of  Beate's  self- 
destroying  act  is  wholly  attained.  "  And  you 
understand "  —  these  are  the  closing  words  of 
Richard  to  Michael  —  "  that  I  must  live,  though 
I  do  not  care  to  —  must  live  —  because  I  am 
dead.  Farewell." 

Nearly  all  the  characters  in  "  The  Joy  of  Liv- 
ing" are  conventionalized,  a  fact  which  explains 
in  a  great  measure  the  friendly  acceptance  of  the 
play  in  England  and  the  United  States,  where 
the  public  shows  such  conservative  aversion  to 
the  admission  of  strangers  into  stage  land.  The 
heroine,  however,  forms  a  notable  exception. 

The  Countess  Beate,  who  has  become  a  favorite 
star  part  for  traveling  tragediennes,  is  not  the  sole 


100  MODERN   GERMAN   LITERATURE 

specimen  of  her  kind.  On  the  contrary,  she  be- 
longs to  a  numerous  sisterhood.  Nevertheless 
she  has  a  personal  note  which  separates  her  from 
the  magnanimous  adventuresses  of  French  drama, 
and  from  all  the  heroines  of  Ibsen,  and  Pinero, 
and  Sudermann  himself.  She  is  distinguished 
by  a  consuming  "  will  to  live,"  in  gratifying 
which  she  is  not  hampered,  as  is  her  lover,  by  any 
moral  scruples.  In  the  words  of  Thomas  Carlyle, 
she  conquers  remorse  by  avoiding  it.  This  is  not 
to  say  that  she  is  without  a  moral  conscience; 
rather  she  has  one  all  her  own.  By  the  code  of 
morals  which  as  social  and  political  beings  we 
confess,  the  Countess  Beate  von  Kellinghausen 
stands  condemned,  and  not  even  by  her  many  good 
deeds  can  she  be  recommended  to  mercy.  Yet 
inasmuch  as  it  is  our  laudable  custom  to  relax  the 
check  upon  our  generous  impulses  when  viewing 
conduct  not  in  life  but  on  the  stage,  the  Rhada- 
manthine  judgment  on  the  sinning  Beate  softens 
greatly  before  the  pleadings  of  her  palliating  traits. 
She  is  guilty  beyond  a  doubt,  and  her  guilt  is 
largely  aggravated  by  her  remorseless,  jubilant 
spirit.  In  this  she  is  of  the  Nietzschean  mold, 
and  resembles  Magda  pointing  out  with  shocking 
pride  the  connection  between  her  trespasses  and 


SUDERMANN  IOI 

her  vital  sense  of  freedom.  Beate,  indeed,  cherishes 
a  passionate  love  of  life  in  its  rich  and  variegated 
fullness.  But  she  loves  it  not  only  for  what  it  holds 
for  herself:  she  is  even  ready  to  fling  her  own 
share  away  in  order  to  secure  for  her  best  beloved 
a  greater  participation  in  the  joy  of  living.  She 
has  been  so  far  a  seeker  after  happiness  for  others 
that  when  we  examine  the  portion  that  she  has 
kept  for  herself  it  will  be  found  to  consist  in  the 
self-imposed  martyrdom  of  love.  And  so,  with  the 
footlights  marking  off  a  safe  distance  between 
Beate  and  ourselves,  since  it  seems  that  human 
compassion  must  keep  a  distance,  "  her  sins  which 
are  many  are  forgiven,  for  she  loved  much." 
"The  Joy  of  Living"  has  been  treated  here  at 
greater  length  than  many  of  Sudermann's  plays. 
The  reason  was  partly  the  success  that  play  has 
experienced  on  the  English  as  well  as  on  the 
German  stage,  and  partly  the  fact  of  its  being  an 
important  document  in  Sudermann's  ethics. 

It  confirms,  in  a  sense,  the  moral  individualism 
observed  throughout  his  career  as  a  writer.  At 
the  same  time  it  shows  a  fair  acquiescence  in  the 
restraint  put  upon  individual  conduct  by  the 
common  agreement  of  society.  However  elating 
Beate's  joy  of  living,  the  wages  of  her  sin,  after 


102  MODERN  GERMAN   LITERATURE 

all,  is  death.  The  two  sentiments,  as  has  been 
already  mentioned,  are  not  necessarily  contra- 
dictory. Sudermann,  to  put  it  plainly,  was  from 
the  beginning,  and  has  remained  to  this  day,  a 
believer  in  the  exception  by  which  the  rule  is 
proved. 

Whenever  a  contemporary  writer  who  has 
shown  the  strength  requisite  to  divide  public 
opinion  as  to  his  true  importance  passes  through 
the  temporary  eclipse  of  a  real  failure,  a  self-con- 
stituted coroner's  jury  of  his  enemies  will  inevit- 
ably pronounce  him  dead  from  exhaustion.  They 
knew  all  the  while,  it  goes  without  saying,  that  he 
was  growing  decrepit;  that  his  triumphs  were 
only  the  galvanic  signs  of  life  produced  by  ingen- 
ious self-advertisement;  they  had  predicted  that 
sooner  or  later  the  bottom  would  be  knocked  out 
of  the  workbox  from  which  came  all  the  flimflam 
of  his  cheap  effects.  They  had  looked  forward 
with  alacrity  to  the  future  which  would  bear  out 
their  forecast  that  the  reputation  of  the  writer  in 
question  was  wholly  evanescent. 

In  Germany  more  than  in  any  other  country 
great  importance  is  attached  to  questions  of  lit- 
erature ;  consequently  a  writer  like  Sudermann 
cannot  wonder  at  having  a  multitude  of  critics. 


SUDERMANN  103 

Without  invoking  the  apologetic  Quandoque  bonus 
dormitat  Homerus,  it  may  be  said  in  a  spirit  of 
justice  that  no  attitude  on  the  part  of  a  critic  can 
be  more  petty  and  unfair  towards  an  earnestly 
striving  artist  than  the  malignant  appraisal  of  his 
worth  on  the  basis  of  the  least  creditable  of  his  per- 
formances. Hermann  Sudermann  has  been  sig- 
nally unsuccessful  with  his  last  play,  the  comedy 
Der  Sturmgeselle  Sokrates  (1903).  That  even  his 
stanchest  adherents  will  have  to  admit.  And  the 
failure  was  not  confined  to  a  single  feature  of 
the  play;  the  entire  work  in  regard  to  structure, 
form,  and  substance,  plot,  language,  and  characters 
is  past  saving.  Worst  of  all,  the  spirit  in  which 
it  is  written  is  to  be  unequivocally  condemned. 
Der  Sturmgeselle  Sokrates  is  a  libelous  carica- 
ture on  the  lofty  political  idealism  that  inspired 
the  so-called  Volkerfruhling,  the  outbreak  of  the 
German  love  of  liberty  in  the  year  1848.  The 
story  of  the  play  not  really  being  worth  the  tell- 
ing, it  is  sufficient  to  touch  upon  its  main  points. 
In  a  small  East  Prussian  city,  by  which  is  doubt- 
less meant  Tilsit,  there  exists  in  the  middle  of  the 
seventies  a  club  called  Die  Sturmgesellen,  "the  Fel- 
low Stormers."  It  is  composed  of  five  or  six  old- 
time  chums,  nearly  all  eccentric  and  wrong-headed 


104  MODERN   GERMAN   LITERATURE 

old  codgers,  who  meet  once  a  week  in  a  dingy 
public  house  and  pass  the  evening  with  beer, 
tobacco,  and  political  drivel.  They  are  the  innoc- 
uous remnant  of  a  secret  society  founded  in  the 
early  fifties,  soon  after  the  suppression  of  the 
revolution,  one  of  the  many  which  in  the  period 
of  reaction  kept  alive  clandestinely  the  democratic 
hopes.  The  solemn  absurdities  of  this  obsolete 
conspiracy  are  kept  up  with  ludicrous  punctilious- 
ness. The  puerility  of  the  old  Fellow  Stormers  is 
not  without  its  touch  of  pathos.  While  they  still 
throw  around  at  a  lively  rate  their  high-sounding 
balderdash  about  liberty,  equality,  and  fraternity, 
their  political  creed  has  gone  out  of  date  and  lost 
its  meaning,  and  they  appear  to  be  blind  to  the 
fact  that  a  new  era  has  realized  many  of  their 
ancient  dreams.  So  far  so  good.  The  ludicrous 
yet  touching  loyalty  to  the  moribund  idols  of 
one's  generous  youth  might  have  proved  a  fruit- 
ful theme  for  a  serio-  or  even  a  tragi-comic  play. 
And  such  an  one  was  probably  in  the  author's 
mind.  Unfortunately  Sudermann  committed  a 
double  error.  In  the  first  place,  he  took  the 
tempora  mutantur  altogether  for  granted  and 
emphasized  unduly  the  et  nos  mutamur  in  his 
characterization  of  the  Sturmgesellen,  by  making 


SUDERMANN  105 

them  out,  with  a  single  exception,  as  a  set  of 
thorough-paced  idiots  and  hypocrites.  Their  con- 
duct is  for  the  most  part  utterly  inconsistent  with 
their  professed  high  principles,  besides  being  dis- 
creditable to  their  intellects.  One  of  them  is  a 
sordid  timeserver;  another,  a  scandalous  rake; 
the  third,  a  malicious  intriguer;  the  fourth,  and 
relatively  most  relishable  of  the  company,  Rabbi 
Markuse,  is  an  amiable  enough  person  and  fairly 
well-conducted  citizen,  but  childishly  self-indul- 
gent in  little  things  and,  although  he  poses  as  a 
modernized  Nathan  the  Wise,  a  coward  before  pub- 
lic opinion.  To  show  up  by  such  farcical  exam- 
ples the  wide  discrepancy  between  profession  and 
practice  of  the  men  of  '48  is  like  waving  the  red 
flag  in  the  faces  of  the  survivors  of  the  revolution. 
The  other  error,  however,  is  of  a  still  graver  nature. 
In  the  fifth  of  the  Fellow  Stormers,  Dentist  Hart- 
meyer,  who  has  the  principal  part,  the  old-time 
idealism  burns  on  with  undiminished  fervor,  and 
Sudermann,  by  making  this  one  the  most  prepos- 
terous among  the  fantasts,  with  his  objectless, 
querulous  enthusiasm  and  quixotic  lack  of  com- 
mon sense,  lays  a  hurtful  finger  on  a  very  sensi- 
tive spot  in  the  national  consciousness  of  his 
countrymen.  The  German  people  are  rightly 


106  MODERN   GERMAN   LITERATURE 

proud  of  their  idealism.  It  is  bad  form  and  bit- 
terly unjust  for  Sudermann  to  hold  up  the  old 
ideals  of  '48  to  the  scorn  of  the  modern  genera- 
tion. It  is  difficult  to  see  what  good  turn  can  be 
served  either  the  human  or  the  national  cause  by 
a  political  comedy  which  seems  to  point  out  the 
harrowing  lesson  that  democracy  is  half  villainy, 
half  folly.  And  the  representatives  of  the  new 
epoch,  the  sons  of  the  Fellow  Stormers,  being  with 
one  exception  contemptible  and  vicious,  are  not 
calculated  to  show  that  vigorous  ideals  of  any  sort, 
old  or  new,  serve  as  lodestars  for  the  guidance 
of  the  men  who  are  young  to-day  in  Imperial  Ger- 
many. One  might  condone  the  pessimism  shown 
in  the  historical  retrospect  in  spite  of  its  indis- 
creet expression.  Der  Katzensteg  contained  the 
proof  that  such  dissent  from  the  generally  accepted 
patriotic  tradition  may  go  hand  in  hand  with  a 
confidence  in  the  existence  of  a  truly  efficacious 
national  idealism.  But  to  judge  from  Der  Sturm- 
geselle  Sokrates  it  almost  looks  as  though,  in  a 
fit  of  disgust,  Sudermann  had  shifted  his  moral 
perspective.  To  the  defense  raising  its  faint  voice 
here  and  there  and  offering  the  objection  that 
Der  Sturmgeselle  Sokrates  must  not  be  received 
as  an  attack  on  cherished  national  ideals  there 


SUDERMANN  107 

is  but  one  answer.  The  ethics  of  every  drama 
must  stand  trial  on  their  plain  appearances, 
nothing  else. 

After  this  outspoken  condemnation  of  Suder- 
mann's  latest  play  a  warning  will  be  in  place  that 
we  should  not  lend  a  serious  ear  to  his  obdurate 
detractors.  It  would  simplify  the  study  of  a  great 
writer  if  ethical  and  aesthetic  development  were 
necessarily  following  a  straight  line  up  or  down. 
As  a  rule,  however,  great  writers  are  so  consti- 
tuted or  circumstanced  that  an  occasional  slipping 
back  from  their  path  of  ascent  or  a  not  too  frequent 
recrudescence  into  a  past  phase  of  endeavor  need 
not  be  taken  as  a  symptom  of  decay.  We  must 
let  them  take  their  own  time  and  their  own  way 
to  reach  the  summit  of  their  art.  Thus  as  in  con- 
clusion we  sum  up  the  results  of  Sudermann's 
work  during  this  decade  and  a  half  of  his  rich 
literary  activity,  we  may  in  good  faith  eliminate 
from  the  estimate  the  two  or  three  books  that 
are  distinctly  inferior  in  value  to  the  rest  of  the 
imposing  series. 

The  art  of  Hermann  Sudermann,  notwithstand- 
ing the  range  of  its  capabilities,  is  fundamentally 
simple  in  its  character.  Its  purpose  is  direct,  its 
form  clearly  defined,  incisive,  at  times  lapidary. 


108  MODERN  GERMAN   LITERATURE 

It  is  an  art  that  reposes  on  a  well-poised,  full- 
orbed,  full-veined  personality.  His  failures  refute 
the  groundless  charge  that  Sudermann  truckles 
to  the  dominant  literary  taste  of  the  hour.  He 
fashions  from  a  deep  artist's  conscience  and  out  of 
the  fullness  of  a  strong  outspoken  temperament. 
Again  and  again  he  has  been  reviled  as  a  mechan- 
ical imitator  of  the  French  W^-dramatists.  It  is 
perfectly  certain  and  greatly  to  his  credit  that  he 
has  learned  much  from  older  and  contemporary 
masters,  both  in  respect  to  the  general  principles 
and  the  minor  managements  of  dramatic  art. 
Why  should  not  an  artist,  in  order  to  reach  a 
higher  position,  mount  on  the  shoulders  of  emi- 
nent predecessors?  It  is  not  true,  however,  that 
Sudermann  has  schooled  his  craftsmanship  exclu- 
sively after  the  French  pattern.  The  fact  is,  he 
studied  in  the  same  places  as  most  of  his  com- 
petitors, but  he  has  proved  himself  an  apter  pupil. 
To  Ibsen  and  Bjornson  he  owes  probably  more 
than  to  any  other  living  writers  for  the  technic, 
the  subject-matter,  and  even  the  ethics  of  his 
works.  Undoubtedly  he  has,  besides,  acquired 
constructive  details  from  the  older  school  of 
French  dramatists,  maybe  he  has  also  been  in- 
fluenced by  them  in  giving  room  to  some  of  those 


SUDERMANN  1 09 

things  which  for  the  lack  of  a  better  word  we 
must  term  with  his  detractors  "  theatricalities." 
Spielhagen  may  be  right  in  claiming  for  Count 
Trast  a  lineal  descent  from  the  Count  of  Monte 
Cristo.  Yet  with  rare  exceptions  these  "theatri- 
calities" are  not  used  as  a  claptrap  for  a  gullible 
public,  for  it  should  be  remembered  that  Suder- 
mann  writes  for  a  nation  to  whom  the  drama  is 
something  far  higher  than  a  mere  "  show."  They 
are  in  all  likelihood  the  spontaneous  outflow  of  a 
dramatic  disposition.  On  the  whole  Sudermann 
indulges  with  discretion  his  natural  propensity  for 
the  spectacular.  As  an  instance,  take  the  recep- 
tion prepared  for  the  prim  a  donna  Maddalena  dall' 
Orto  (Magda)  in  a  city  which  may  constructively 
be  called  Konigsberg,  the  capital  of  East  Prus- 
sia. The  streets  and  houses  are  decked  with  gar- 
lands, rugs,  and  flags ;  crowds  surge  in  front  of 
her  house,  and  so  forth.  These  things  do  not 
pass  on  the  scene  and  therefore  cannot  enhance 
the  stage  effect  of  the  play,  but  they  betray  the 
author's  penchant  for  picturesque  exaggeration  to 
which  he  yields  now  and  then  when  he  thinks 
himself  unobserved.  Examples  of  the  same  kind 
might  easily  be  multiplied.  Theatrical  rather  than 
dramatic  are  likewise  the  ablegates,  as  we  have 


HO  MODERN  GERMAN   LITERATURE 

called  them,  or  mouthpieces  of  the  author's  pri- 
vate opinion.  In  the  novels  as  well  as  in  the  plays 
there  is  a  superfluity  of  speech-making  and  other 
declamation.  There  is  also  in  both  kinds  of  works 
a  regular  return  of  the  "  grand  scene."  But  these 
things  which  fly  in  the  face  of  naturalism  do 
not  constitute,  as  the  enemies  would  have  it,  a 
cardinal  dramaturgic  vice  of  Sudermann.  They 
merely  prove  that  he  aspires  to  no  high  place 
among  the  naturalists. 

A  play  or  a  novel  may  be  lifelike  without  being, 
true  to  life.  Sudermann  is  less  concerned  with 
external  accuracy  than  with  internal  truth.  The 
things  which  he  depicts  on  the  stage  and  in  the 
pages  of  his  books  are  not  soulless  copies  from  life, 
nor  yet  are  they,  on  the  other  hand,  mere  inven- 
tions of  the  imagination.  They  are  fragments  of  his 
own  inner  experience,  composed  and  interpreted 
for  others.  Herein  consists  the  convincing  power 
of  his  art.  He  has  had  the  courage  from  the  begin- 
ning to  brave  the  naturalistic  despotism,  and  to 
hold  out  for  the  conviction  that,  as  Amiel  has  it 
in  his  Journal  intime,  "  the  ideal,  after  all,  is  truer 
than  the  real ;  for  the  ideal  is  the  eternal  element 
in  perishable  things:  it  is  their  type,  their  sum, 
their  raison  cTetre,  their  formula  in  the  book  of 


SUDERMANN  1 1 1 

the  Creator,  and  therefore  at  once  the  most  exact 
and  the  most  condensed  expression  of  them." 
For  this  reason  it  is  that  such  figures  as  the  plod- 
ding Paul  Mayhofer,  the  robust  Leo  von  Sellen- 
thin,  the  feline  Adah  Barczinowsky,  the  blond 
serpent  Felicitas  von  Kletzing,  or  the  roughshod, 
blustering,  golden-hearted  Squire  Vogelreuter, 
and  many  another  figure  of  Sudermann's  are 
more  than  ephemeral  creations.  They  are  last- 
ing contributions  to  the  history  of  contempo- 
rary morals  and  manners,  and  therefore  may  be 
fairly  ranked  with  such  imperishable  products 
of  the  writer's  art  as  Captain  Dobbin,  Rawdon 
Crawley,  the  Marquis  of  Steyne,  or  even  the  in- 
comparable Becky  Sharp  herself.  Though  com- 
parisons in  the  domain  of  literature  are  especially 
odious,  yet  one  feels  strongly  tempted  to  spin  out 
somewhat  further  the  comparison  between  Suder- 
mann  and  England's  greatest  novelist,  Thackeray. 
The  stinging  lash  swung  by  both  is  in  appointed 
hands;  it  is  wielded  by  righteous  indignation  in 
the  name  of  a  higher  morality.  And  that  is  good 
additional  reason  why  we  pardon  Sudermann's 
occasional  undramatic  preachments.  He  is  not 
an  artist  for  art's  sake  alone  ;  he  is  also  a  vigorous 
reformer.  Yet  again  like  Thackeray,  he  is  not 


112  MODERN   GERMAN   LITERATURE 

perpetually  plying  the  scourge  of  scathing  sar- 
casm. He  is  also  richly  endowed  with  real  benig- 
nant humor,  a  gift  of  the  gods  which  no  great 
writer  can  spare,  and  one  which  can  make  even 
an  out-and-out  realist  almost  endurable. 

The  art  of  Sudermann  is  simple  also  in  that  it 
applies  itself  almost  invariably  to  a  single  group 
of  problems.  The  keynote  to  the  great  majority 
of  his  works  is  the  world-old  conflict  which  is 
daily  bred  anew  in  the  life  of  a  progressive  people: 
the  tragic  struggle  between  the  old  and  the  new; 
between  the  pious  clinging  of  the  soul  to  long- 
recognized  creeds  and  the  imperious  claims  of  a 
nascent  era. 

In  his  attitude  towards  these  grave  questions 
Sudermann  is  consistently  conservative  so  far  as 
the  general  status  of  society  is  concerned ;  he  is 
liberal,  radical,  nay  anarchistic,  in  his  pleas  for 
special  cases.  Yet  he  is  not  stubbornly  marking 
time  on  the  standpoint  of  any  one  doctrine.  We 
find,  on  the  contrary,  in  his  dramatic  career  the 
evidences  of  a  growing,  maturing,  and  refining 
philosophy.  Roughly  speaking,  three  phases  may 
be  distinguished.  At  first,  the  class  conftict  fter  se 
is  in  the  foreground,  the  fates  of  the  individuals 
are  of  secondary  interest.  The  type  of  these 


SUDERMANN  113 

dramas  is  Die  Ehre.  In  that  play  the  final  des- 
tinies of  Robert  and  Lenore,  Alma  and  Kurt, 
are  disposed  of  with  a  nonchalant  wave  of  the 
hand.  The  most  interesting  part  of  Die  Ehre 
is  the  perambulating  social  commentary  of  the 
author,  here  represented  by  the  Count  von  Trast- 
Saarberg. 

It  is  not  long,  however,  before  the  major  sym- 
pathies of  Sudermann  are  transferred  from  the 
sociologic  class  phenomena  in  the  abstract  to  the 
concrete,  living  individual.  The  first  play  of  this 
second  phase  is  "  Magda."  The  connection  with 
the  teachings  of  Friedrich  Nietzsche  is  obvious. 
The  highest  duty  of  the  exceptional  type  is  to  cul- 
tivate its  true  genius,  regardless  of  the  statutes 
and  by-laws  of  society.  The  exceptional  man 
or  woman  must  therefore  follow  the  pathfinding 
instinct.  Such  is  the  prime  consideration.  The 
most  sacred  bonds  must  be  severed  as  soon  as 
they  become  a  hindrance  to  the  free  unfolding 
of  individuality.  At  the  same  time,  genius  may 
not,  after  defying  the  conventions  and  thus  secur- 
ing its  own  higher  form  of  happiness,  expect  to 
participate  with  equal  shares  in  the  happy  lot  of 
the  throng.  Thus  every  genius  is  placed  in  the 
ancient  Sapphic  dilemma. 


114  MODERN   GERMAN   LITERATURE 

There  is  a  third  class  of  plays  by  Sudermann 
representing  a  yet  higher  stage  of  ethical  concep- 
tion. A  person  may  be  at  the  same  time  sover- 
eignly independent  and  sovereignly  unselfish. 
Teja  is  an  apotheosis  of  civic  martyrdom,  Johannes 
a  glorification  of  the  gospel  of  love.  Marikke,  too, 
and  Beate  in  their  way  show  their  strength  not  so 
much  in  self-assertion  as  in  self-abnegation. 

And  it  may  be  that  Sudermann  as  an  ethicist 
has  not  yet  spoken  his  final  and  decisive  word. 
At  any  rate,  so  far  as  his  social  plays  are  con- 
cerned, his  work  up  to  the  present  time  shows 
him  only  twice  as  the  reckless  satirist,  in  Sodoms 
Ende,  where  he  puts  profligacy  into  the  pillory, 
and  in  Der  Sturmgeselle  Sokrates,  meant  as  a 
warning  either  against  false  idealism  or  against 
want  of  idealism.  At  all  other  times  Sudermann 
maintains  the  helpful  attitude  of  a  sober,  deter- 
mined reformer.  He  handles  his  chosen  problems 
not,  as  so  many  modern  writers  do,  for  the  sake 
of  pleasing  the  caprice  of  a  frivolous  public,  nor 
to  gratify  any  morbid  curiosity  or  idiosyncrasy  of 
his  own,  but  because  they  have  come  to  distinct 
public  consciousness,  and  because  he  personally 
is  deeply  stirred  by  them.  As  a  novelist  he  has 
reached  true  greatness.  In  the  drama  he  falls 


SUDERMANN  1 1 5 

short  of  it  because  his  strong  pedagogic  bent 
warps  his  plots  from  their  natural  course,  not 
letting  fate  arise  wholly  out  of  the  characters,  and 
because,  moreover,  in  his  plays  the  horizon  of  the 
"  idea "  and  the  circle  of  action  are  not  always 
coextensive. 

Nevertheless,  if  we  have  outgrown  that  pedantic 
narrowness  which  approves  or  disapproves  of  a 
writer  in  proportion  as  he  happens  to  agree  or 
disagree  with  our  own  views  of  things,  and  if  in 
judging  him  we  turn  from  the  sundry  crudities 
and  blemishes  of  which  hardly  any  work  of  art 
can  be  wholly  free,  and  fix  our  attention  on 
his  honest  aims  and  high  merits,  we  shall  gladly 
acknowledge  Hermann  Sudermann  as  one  of  the 
foremost  exponents  of  the  modern  novel  and 
drama. 


MODERN 
GERMAN   LITERATURE 

GERHART   HAUPTMANN 


117 


GERHART    HAUPTMANN 

A  census  taken  at  any  time  during  the  past 
decade  or  so  to  determine  whom  the  present 
generation  regards  as  the  greatest  living  drama- 
tist of  Germany  would  result  beyond  a  perad ven- 
ture in  the  overwhelming  triumph  of  Gerhart 
Hauptmann. 

How  much  this  well-nigh  unanimous  judgment 
may  portend  for  Hauptmann's  ultimate  position 
in  German  and  European  literature,  how  much 
or  how  little  warrant  there  is  for  already  assign- 
ing to  him  a  well-defined  historic  personality,  will 
be  a  matter  for  speculation  until  the  literary  or 
cultural  movement  to  which  his  works  and  his 
fame  owe  their  origin  shall  have  receded  from 
the  field  of  blurred  contemporaneous  vision  and 
appear  to  the  eye  in  the  distinctness  of  historic 
perspective. 

On  the  other  hand,  there  can  be  no  doubt  that 
the  general  appreciation  of  Hauptmann  signifies 
for  our  own  time  the  victorious  penetration  of 

certain  aesthetic  principles  into  the  art  conception 

119 


120  MODERN   GERMAN   LITERATURE 

of  a  vast  majority  of  the  Germans.  These  prin- 
ciples, which  may  be  summed  up  in  the  well- 
known  term  "  naturalism,"  came  into  vogue,  so 
far  as  Germany  is  concerned,  about  fifteen  years 
ago,  at  first  among  a  small  group  of  young  writers. 
Before  they  had  spread  so  widely  as  finally  to  win 
for  the  new  art  gospel  wide  circles  of  society  high 
and  low,  they  had  undergone  a  number  of  modifi- 
cations, the  leading  writers  of  the  school  passing 
through  an  almost  radical  change  in  their  artistic 
conviction.  It  is  evident  to  us  at  this  distance 
that  the  extreme  naturalism  of  Hauptmann's  first 
play  in  1889  represents  merely  a  played-out  epi- 
sode in  the  consistent  movement  of  the  modern 
drama  towards  greater  truthfulness.  The  abiding 
service  of  naturalism  to  the  higher  realism  into 
which  it  is  now  merged  consists  in  the  accom- 
plished reunion  of  dramatic  art  with  actual  life 
after  a  long  and  disastrous  period  of  separation. 
In  its  results  this  reunion  means  no  less  than 
that  the  theater  to-day  occupies  in  the  national 
consciousness  of  the  Germans  a  place  such  as 
throughout  the  history  of  mankind  it  has  been 
known  to  command  only  once  before,  at  the  time 
when  Greek  tragedy  was  in  its  flower.  To  con- 
vert a  place  for  the  entertainment  of  the  well-to-do 


HAUPTMANN  1 2 1 

lazy  into  a  serious  institution  for  the  deepening 
of  the  public  art  intelligence  it  was  needful  to 
work  a  series  of  reforms.  Already  the  method 
had  been  laid  out  by  Emile  Zola  in  his  Le  Roman 
experimental,  by  which  the  epic  form  of  letters 
was  to  be  brought  into  an  organic  touch  with 
life.  By  the  same  or  a  closely  similar  prescrip- 
tion the  drama  was  now  to  be  remade.  The 
naturalists  felt  that  the  drama  should  be  a  repro- 
duction of  the  actual,  unaltered  by  any  embellish- 
ment/or idealistic  additions  of  any  kind.  Hence 
it  is  necessary  to  learn  to  observe  the  actual  in  a 
scientific  way ;  and  as  the  phenomena  under  scru- 
tiny are  manifestations  of  organic  life,  the  natural- 
istic dramatist  should  strive  to  fathom  them  by 
methods  akin  to  those  employed  in  the  biologic 
pursuits.  However,  the  most  painstaking  registra- 
tion of  data  does  not  produce  a  drama,  because 
the  social  processes  are  too  composite  and  slow- 
working  for  the  limited  possibilities  of  the  stage, 
and  too  subtle  for  the  offhand  comprehension  of 
the  public.  So,  by  analogy  of  natural  science,  the 
dramatists  segregate  relatively  small  groups  of  fac- 
tors and  study  experimentally  their  mutual  reac- 
tions. This  at  least  is  their  theory,  and  here  is  not 
the  place  to  combat  the  fallacy  which  it  harbors. 


122  MODERN   GERMAN   LITERATURE 

Two  corollaries  of  this  alleged  scientific  method 
have  to  be  mentioned :  The  "  passion  of  veracity  " 
implies  the  preponderance  of  the  commonplace  in 
the  looks  and  acts  of  the  characters  and  notably  in 
their  speech,  and  thus  makes  among  other  things 
the  use  of  dialect  and  jargon  indispensable.  The 
environment  of  each  individual  must  be  accurately 
rendered ;  hence  a  mass  of  epic  detail  is  conveyed 
through  the  medium  of  stage  directions,  which  thus 
become  an  intrinsic  part  of  the  play.  It  was  on 
the  perfection  of  these  and  other  technical  matters 
that  naturalism  at  first  took  its  stand ;  the  higher 
object  of  the  drama  was  wholly  submerged  under 
its  minutiae. 

This  higher  object  for  the  naturalist  was  to 
show  through  a  multiplicity  of  examples  that 
man's  destiny  is  unalterably  shaped  by  his  in- 
herited character  in  conjunction  with  his  environ- 
ment; human  fate  proceeds  from  a  parallelogram 
of  forces  extrinsic  rather  than  volitional.  So 
much,  in  passing,  for  the  naturalistic  creed.  How- 
ever, even  the  author  of  Le  Roman  experimental, 
the  gospel  of  the  naturalists,  had  declared  that  art 
is  a  segment  of  the  world  seen  through  a  tempera- 
ment. In  truth,  the  temperamental  or  subjective 
coloring  can  never  be  absent  from  a  work  of  art. 


HAUPTMANN  123 

So  far  as  it  goes,  it  will  set  apart  the  work  of 
one  writer  from  the  work  of  all  others.  For  this 
reason  we  find  that  with  his  peculiarly  lyric  tem- 
perament it  is  no  easy  task  for  Hauptmann,  even 
in  the  beginning  of  his  career  as  a  dramatist,  to 
conform  strictly  to  the  tenets  of  the  new  art  code, 
and  that  occasionally  he  breaks  away  altogether 
from  allegiance  to  the  school. 

In  the  preceding  chapter  Sudermann  was  de- 
scribed as  a  writer  of  the  masculine  type.  Haupt- 
mann is  the  opposite.  Sudermann's  pen  is  guided 
by  a  theory  of  life.  Hauptmann  apparently  has 
not  yet  evolved  one  for  himself.  Whenever  he 
departs  from  the  visible  model  and  follows  either 
an  imaginative  or  a  speculative  bent,  it  at  once 
becomes  apparent  that  his  poetry  is  not  moored 
to  a  definite,  consistent  philosophy.  Hauptmann 
as  a  thinker,  say  in  Einsame  Menschen  or  Die 
versunkene  Glocke,  is  handicapped  by  the  same 
intense  impressibility  that  enables  him  in  Die 
Weber  or  Der  Biberpelz  to  show  among  all  his 
contemporaries  the  greatest  skill  in  the  art  of 
accurate  and  minute  milieu  painting.  The  spe- 
cific nature  of  his  prodigious  lyric  gifts,  notably 
the  lilting  melody  of  his  verse,  which  so  often 
asserts  itself  triumphantly  over  the  doctrinal 


124  MODERN  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

veto,  springs  from  a  decadent  predisposition.  The 
much-abused  word  decadent  is  to  be  taken  not  at 
all  in  a  sinister  meaning,  but  to  denote  a  state  of 
overrefinement  manifesting  itself  in  a  subtle  yet 
sterile  receptivity,  brooding  pensiveness,  and  — 
perhaps  the  chief  criterion  —  in  a  certain  debility 
of  the  volitional  energy,  which  leaves  this  poet  in  a 
condition  of  tormenting  doubt  on  major  questions 
of  life,  and  which  even  in  his  pursuit  of  an  art  ideal 
makes  him  seem  vacillating  and  visionary.  Haupt- 
mann,  too,  is  apparently  as  incapable  of  the  higher 
self-discipline  as  are  his  heroes.  With  his  pecul- 
iar mental  and  temperamental  equipment  he  might 
well  have  become  the  foremost  lyrist  of  his  gener- 
ation. When  he  leaves  free  rein  to  his  poetic 
fancy  (as  here  and  there  already  in  Hannele  and 
throughout  Die  versunkene  Glocke]  he  gives  being 
to  poems  of  exquisite  beauty,  veritable  asphodel 
blossoms,  fragrant  with  a  delicate  and  melancholy 
sweetness. 

More  than  that,  there  is  a  fine  lyric  quality 
in  all  of  Hauptmann's  plays,  a  Stimmungszauber 
unmatched  by  any  other  modern  dramatist ;  even 
the  most  crassly  naturalistic  among  them,  Vor 
Sonnenaufgang,  contains  one  such  scene  of  great 
beauty.  In  this  power  of  drawing  the  spectator 


HAUPTMANN  125 

at  will  into  the  mood  of  the  play  lies  Haupt- 
mann's  real  strength.  It  is  not,  however,  for  his 
lyric  genius  but  as  a  dramatist  pure  and  simple 
that  Hauptmann  is  worshiped  by  his  contem- 
poraries. And  with  the  exception  of  an  epic 
(later  withdrawn  from  the  book  market),  a  few 
desultory  novel  fragments,  a  number  of  wholly 
unknown  poems,  and  a  couple  of  short  stories,  his 
published  work  consists  of  a  long  and  altogether 
remarkable  series  of  plays.  Like  most  continental 
writers  of  to-day  Hauptmann  craves  the  quick 
and  tumultuous  response  of  the  living  generation. 
This  may  be  secured  only  in  the  theater.  So 
Hauptmann  writes  plays,  and  through  a  natural 
fallacy  of  public  opinion  he  has  been  proclaimed 
Germany's  greatest  living  dramatist.  Yet  it  may 
be  severely  questioned  whether  he  should  be 
considered  for  that  place  of  honor.  A  dramatic 
writer  may  be  a  great  poetic  genius  and  an  in- 
different maker  of  plays.  Had  Goethe  given 
us  nothing  else  but  Faust  we  should  neverthe- 
less accord  him  readily  the  first  position  among 
modern  poets;  but  should  we  in  that  case  be 
justified  in  calling  Goethe  the  greatest  modern 
dramatist  just  because  Faust  is  cast  in  the 
dramatic  form? 


126  MODERN   GERMAN   LITERATURE 

Judged  by  a  just  dramaturgic  standard,  Haupt- 
mann  is  deficient  in  three  essentials.  In  the  first 
place,  he  is  weak  as  regards  his  dynamics.  The 
characters  are  stationary,  incapable  of  any  real 
development.  In  a  certain  way  they  are  very  true 
to  life,  thanks  to  their  author's  prodigious  power  of 
observation  and  his  absorbing  attention  to  detail. 
They  are  gotten  up  regardless  of  pains.  Not  the 
wart  on  the  nose,  not  the  speck  of  dust  on  the 
coat,  is  overlooked.  Of  the  very  definite  im- 
pression their  prototypes  have  made  on  his  eye, 
Hauptmann  renders  such  accurate  account  that 
when  his  men  and  women  make  their  first  appear- 
ance their  verisimilitude  elicits  our  highest  admi- 
ration. After  a  while,  however,  the  interest  in 
them  flags,  owing  to  their  persevering  sameness. 
Neither  literally  nor  figuratively  do  they  ever 
change  their  clothes.  They  evolve  no  new  ideas 
from  within,  they  admit  none  from  the  outside, 
and  they  never  relent  in  their  stubborn  adherence 
to  what  ideas  they  happen  to  possess.  The  orig- 
inal stock,  moreover,  with  which  the  author  has 
set  them  up  is  so  limited  as  to  constitute  another 
weakness  of  Hauptmann's  plays.  For  truth  to  tell, 
the  characters  are  wanting  in  ideas  chiefly  because 
the  author  has  not  much  of  this  commodity  to 


HAUFJTMANN  127 

spare.  Now  fixed  ideas  are  a  dangerous  equip- 
ment in  proportion  as  they  are  few  in  number, 
and  one  is  tempted  to  think  that  the  characters 
in  Hauptmann's  plays  meet  their  defeat  through 
their  own  unyielding  devotion  to  the  single  fixed 
idea  that  forms  the  dramatic  viaticum  of  each. 
To  come  to  the  third  defect :  Upon  the  glorious 
authority  of  the  ancients  and  of  Shakespeare,  we 
feel  justified  in  demanding  of  a  dramatist  that  in 
manipulating  a  theme  of  his  own  deliberate  choice 
he  shall  turn  his  subject-matter  to  full  account 
and  make  the  most  of  the  dramatic  data  it  pre- 
sents. Of  this  reasonable  demand  Hauptmann 
falls  short.  He  does  not  convert  all  his  metal  into 
coin.  His  art  is  imposing  but  fragmentary.  His 
pieces  are  counterfeits  of  life,  but  for  the  greater 
part  they  are  not  dramas ;  each  constitutes  a  series 
of  living  pictures  succeeding  each  other  without 
an  inevitable  causal  connection,  coming  somehow 
to  a  stop  but  often  lacking  finality. 

Naturalism  is  obviously  self-contradictory  in 
that  it  prohibits  poetic  eclecticism  in  the  present- 
ment, and  at  the  same  time  relies  upon  the  selec- 
tive power  of  the  playwright  to  pick  from  a 
human  history  a  few  brief  scenes  that  shall  of 
themselves  coalesce  into  a  full  drama. 


128  MODERN   GERMAN   LITERATURE 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  plots  of  Hauptmann 
are  structurally  weak  and  do  not  even  present  a 
firm  and  definite  outline.  This  may  be  a  virtue 
in  the  eyes  of  some  naturalists,  yet  the  suspicion 
is  strong  that  it  is  a  virtue  made  of  necessity. 

Hauptmann  is  not  primarily  cut  out  for  a 
dramatist.  But  there  is  a  species  of  drama  which 
is  not  at  all  conterminous  with  life,  and  in  which 
a  first-rate  poet  may  excel  even  without  any  supe- 
rior dramatic  power.  Over  the  domain  of  the 
fairy-tale  play  Hauptmann  might  wield  an  abso- 
lute sovereignty,  were  it  not  for  that  deep-seated 
lack  of  a  consistent  theory  of  life  which  debars 
him  from  interpreting  the  nature  and  destiny  of 
man  through  symbolism  of  the  grander  stamp. 

Hauptmann  has  up  to  this  time  given  us  fifteen 
specimens  of  his  dramatic  art.  Obviously  they 
belong  to  two  essentially  different,  nay  contradic- 
tory and  hostile,  spheres.  Between  these,  how- 
ever, they  are  not  cleanly  divided ;  for  in  several 
of  the  plays  the  attempt  is  made  at  least  to  bridge 
the  chasm  that  separates  the  worlds  of  fact  and 
figment.  The  first  six  plays,  closing  with  Kollege 
Crampton,  are  patterned  throughout  after  the 
extreme  naturalistic  precept.  In  Hannele  the 
poet  swerves  aside  from  this  path  of  unalloyed 


HAUPTMANN  129 

naturalism  or  "  verism,"  to  return  to  it  again  tran- 
siently in  Der  Biberpelz  ("  The  Beaver  Coat  ").  In 
Die  versunkene  Glocke  ("  The  Sunken  Bell ")  he 
once  more  turns  into  another  road  and  finds  the 
way,  so  it  would  seem,  to  the  true  sanctum  of  his 
genius.  But  the  half  dozen  plays  that  have  fol- 
lowed "  The  Sunken  Bell "  are  so  evenly  divided 
between  the  realistic  and  the  idealistic  spheres 
that  it  would  be  obviously  unfair  to  regard  Haupt- 
mann  either  any  longer  as  an  obdurate  disciple  of 
naturalism  or  as  an  apostate  from  its  principles. 
As  to  the  form  to  be  taken  by  his  future  works 
we  are  not  in  entire  darkness.  Yet  it  is  not  easy 
to  derive  his  developmental  curve  from  the  analy- 
sis of  his  works  in  their  chronological  order,  for  it 
is  Hauptmann's  habit  to  carry  on  simultaneously 
several  dramatic  works,  and  the  technic  of  each 
is  to  a  great  extent  predetermined  by  the  aesthetic 
convictions  that  swayed  the  author  during  the 
nascent  stage  of  the  composition,  which  may  lie 
farther  back  than  the  actual  beginnings  of  works 
published  earlier.  However,  when  all  is  said,  an 
important  distinction  will  be  drawn  between  the 
naturalism  of  the  earliest  plays,  which  poses  as 
its  own  excuse,  and  that  of  Fuhrmann  Henschel, 
Michael  Kramer,  and  Rose  Bernd,  which  has 


130  MODERN   GERMAN   LITERATURE 

become  subservient  to  an  ulterior  psychological 
theme  supplying  to  the  play  its  real  content.  It 
is  wisest  to  abstain  from  prophecy.  This  much, 
however,  it  seems  safe  to  predict :  Hauptmann 
will  continue  to  exercise  his  double  talent.  He 
will  take  his  material,  on  the  one  hand,  from  his 
own  experience  and  acquaintance.  Here  the  dra- 
matis personae  will  be  imitations  of  life,  without 
the  playwright's  deeming  it  necessary  to  return 
to  the  sickening  coarseness  of  his  first  effort.  On 
the  other  hand,  he  will  sojourn  from  time  to  time 
in  his  beloved  fairyland  where  he  feels  so  much 
at  home.  At  any  rate,  it  is  certain  that  he  will 
continue  to  grow  in  independence  and  be  bound 
down  less  and  less  by  the  narrow  aesthetic  code 
of  "  Youngest  Germany." 

Before  passing  under  review  the  plays  of 
Gerhart  Hauptmann  in  the  order  of  their  publi- 
cation, it  seems  appropriate  to  sketch  briefly  his 
early  personal  history  previous  to  his  recognition 
as  the  leading  exponent  of  realistic  drama  in  Ger- 
many!GerhaTFTTa/Uplmann  was  born  in  1862  in 


Obersalzbrunn,  a  small  Silesian  watering  place, 
where  his  father  kept  at  one  time  the  three  prin- 
cipal hotels.  The  hotel  keeper  Siebenhaar  in 
Fuhrmann  Henschel  is  said  to  be  modeled  after 


HAUPTMANN  131 

Hauptmann's  father.  The  poet's  grandfather  on 
the  paternal  side,  who  was  in  his  early  years  a 
poor  linen  weaver,  also  became  a  well-to-do  inn- 
keeper.1 On  the  maternal  side  as  well  Hauptmann 
is  a  son  of  the  people.  In  1874  he  was  sent  to 
the  capital  city  of  Breslau,  where  he  attended  the 
Realschule.  To  the  disappointment  of  his  father, 
whose  business  had  taken  an  unprosperous  turn, 
he  proved  an  unsatisfactory  student,  so  that  three 
years  later  it  seemed  wise  to  take  him  from  school 
and  try  to  make  him  turn  his  attention  to  agricul- 
ture. Soon  he  returned  to  Breslau,  this  time  to 
study  art,  for  which  he  had  displayed  a  prom- 
ising talent.  His  chronic  rebellion  against  the 
discipline  of  the  Royal  Art  School  brought  his 
connection  with  that  institution  to  an  early  close. 
Although  not  qualified,  technically,  to  enter  a 
university,  he  was  by  special  act  admitted  as  a 
student  of  history  at  Jena.  He  was  then,  at  twenty 
years  of  age,  undecided  between  following  the  fine 
arts  or  literature  as  his  vocation,  and  remained 
in  this  state  of  indecision  for  a  number  of  years. 
After  a  few  semesters  at  the  university  we  find 
him  at  work,  now  in  his  sculptor's  studio  at  Rome, 

1  In  this  connection  it  deserves  to  be  noticed,  perhaps,  that  the  poet 
is  a  "  total  abstainer  "  and  a  professed  enemy  of  strong  drink. 


132  MODERN   GERMAN   LITERATURE 

now  in  Germany,  drawing  and  modeling  from  life. 
Then  again  he  discovered  a  still  more  congenial 
calling  and  entered  upon  a  course  of  conscientious 
preparation  to  become  an  actor.  This  purpose  he 
had  to  give  up,  partly  because  of  an  inability  to 
overcome  the  lisp  in  his  speech.  In  the  mean- 
time he  had  married,  and  by  his  wife's  considerable 
fortune  was  freed  from  the  anxieties  of  bread- 
winning  and  the  necessity  for  compromise  which 
poverty  is  so  apt  to  impose  on  the  artist.  From 
1885  began  his  relations  with  the  rising  literary 
generation, — he  had  removed  to  a  place  in  the 
vicinity  of  Berlin,  —  and  about  that  time  also 
began  his  career  as  a  writer.  Of  his  first  efforts 
but  little  has  been  preserved.  As  far  as  can  be 
judged  from  fragments  and  snatches,  they  were 
not  fundamentally  at  variance  with  the  established 
literary  routine  against  which  his  later  works  were 
to  furnish  such  a  vigorous  protest.  Therein  lies 
probably  one  reason  why  Hauptmann  has  repudi- 
ated these  utterances  of  his  early  apprenticeship. 
But  most  likely  the  principal  reason  is  the  low 
opinion  the  author  now  holds  of  the  artistic  worth 
of  those  firstlings  of  his  genius.  In  a  lengthy 
epic  poem  entitled  Promethidenlos  ("  The  Fate  of 
the  Children  of  Prometheus ")  he  recorded  the 


HAUPTMANN  133 

variegated  impressions  and  experiences  of  a  voy- 
age from  Hamburg  along  the  western  coast  of 
Europe  and  through  the  Mediterranean.  He  had 
journeyed  in  the  tracks  of  "  Childe  Harold,"  and 
beyond  a  doubt  his  own  poem  is  strongly  colored 
by  Byron.  The  epic,  published  in  1885,  was  soon 
withdrawn  from  circulation.  The  few  copies  that 
have  not  been  remade  into  pulp  are  now  high- 
priced  curios  of  the  book  world.  A  collection  of 
lyrics,  Das  bunte  Buck  ("The  Motley  Book"), 
had  got  as  far  as  the  page  proof  when  the  obscure 
publisher  went  into  bankruptcy.  The  few  samples 
cited  by  Hauptmann's  biographer,  Paul  Schlen- 
ther,  are  not  especially  calculated  to  deepen  our 
regret  at  the  suppression  of  these  verses.  Not 
all,  however,  are  as  hopelessly  commonplace  as 
the  one  which  commences  with  the  best-known 
line  of  Heinrich  Heine  : 

Ich  weifinicht,  was  soil  es  bedeuten, 
DaC  meine  Trane  rinnt 
Zuweilen,  wenn  feme  das  Lauten 
Der  Glocke,  der  Glocke  beginnt. 

In  1889  Hauptmann  formed  the  acquaintance 
of  Arno  Holz.  Holz  impressed  him  very  much 
with  his  clear,  incisive  analysis  of  the  literary- 
conditions,  and  gave  him  the  final  impetus 


134  MODERN   GERMAN   LITERATURE 

towards  "realism,"  Hauptmann  for  some  time  hav- 
ing strongly  tended  in  that  direction.  Holz  and 
his  equally  talented  friend,  Johannes  Schlaf,  were 
the  joint  authors  of  a  number  of  photographically 
lifelike  sketches  named  Papa  Hamlet,  after  an 
old  play  actor  who  is  the  subject  of  the  leading 
story  in  the  collection.  This  book  seemed  then 
to  Hauptmann  the  very  acme  of  consistent  nat- 
uralism. The  lesson  it  taught  him  he  valued  so 
highly  that  he  dedicated  his  own  first  realistic 
play,  which  appeared  soon  after,  to  "  Bjarne  P. 
Holmsen,"  which  was  the  partnership  pen  name 
of  Holz  and  Schlaf.  This  play  of  Hauptmann's 
is  called  Vor  Sonnenaufgang  ("  Before  Sunrise  "). 
It  appeared  in  book  form  in  the  summer  of  1889 
and  was  first  performed  under  the  auspices  of 
the  Freie  Biihne  ("  The  Free  Theater,"  a  private 
organization  not  harassed  by  censorship)  on  Octo- 
ber 20  of  the  same  year.  From  this  play,  which 
at  once  divided  the  play-going  public  into  two 
camps,  dates  Hauptmann's  fame.  Its  plot  and 
manner  of  presentation  struck  the  audience  dumb 
with  admiration  or  aroused  it  to  an  indignant 
protest,  according  to  the  literary  party  allegiance 
confessed  by  each  person  present  at  the  perform- 
ance. Fifteen  years  have  passed  since  that  time ; 


HAUFfMANN  135 

in  Germany  the  extreme  naturalism  for  which  Vor 
Sonnenaufgang  supplied  the  paradigm  has  run 
its  course,  but  as  the  United  States  participates 
so  little  in  the  literary  movements  that  sway  the 
European  intellect,  the  contents  of  Vor  Sonnen- 
aufgang may  still  be  a  novelty  to  most  American 
readers.  I  must  state  at  the  outset  that  in  sketch- 
ing out  the  contents  of  Hauptmann's  first  play 
I  shall  be  obliged  to  pass  over  more  than  one 
important  detail  out  of  deference  to  the  conven- 
tional laws  of  decorum. 

Through  the  discovery  of  a  rich  coal  seam  in 
his  land  Farmer  Krause  becomes  unexpectedly 
a  very  rich  man.  He  forthwith  conceives  some 
mild  social  ambitions  for  his  family,  to  gratify 
which  he  marries  his  elder  daughter  to  a  civil 
engineer  and  sends  the  younger  to  a  Moravian 
boarding  school.  Not  being  ambitious  on  his 
own  account,  he  proceeds  to  indulge  his  one  con- 
genital passion, — a  ceaseless  craving  for  alco- 
hol. His  normal  condition  is  that  which  with 
characteristic  injustice  toward  the  dumb  animals 
we  call  a  state  of  beastly  drunkenness.  Let  the 
quotation-worn  slander  for  once  be  repudiated. 
Even  Mr.  Thompson-Seton,  who  surely  knows 
stranger  things  about  the  wild  animals  than 


136  MODERN   GERMAN  LITERATURE 

philosophy  and  natural  history  e'er  dreamt  of, 
would  agree  that  no  animal  lower  than  man 
revels  in  such  degradation  as  Farmer  Krause. 
The  precious  home  circle  over  which  this  hope- 
less sot  presides  includes  his  infamous  rake  of 
a  son-in-law,  Hofmann.  A  choice  quartet  is  com- 
pleted by  Krause's  hopelessly  depraved  wife  and 
her  cicisbeo,  a  lecherous  hostler.  Into  this  de- 
lightful company  the  younger  daughter,  Helene, 
a  girl  of  education  and  fine  feelings,  is  thrown 
on  her  return  from  school.  She  could  hardly  be 
expected  to  feel  at  home  in  it.  The  clammy, 
reeking  filth  of  her  surroundings,  pressing  for- 
ward and  onward  round  her,  must  needs  darken 
her  pure  girlhood.  Her  heart  loudly  counsels 
her  to  fly  from  the  importunities  of  her  amorous 
brother-in-law  as  well  as  from  other  evils  —  but 
whither?  She  loves  Alfred  Loth,  a  socialist  so 
stanch  that  he  has  spent  two  years  in  jail  for 
the  sake  of  his  convictions.  Is  this  for  Helene 
the  call  of  fate  ?  Almost  it  would  seem  so,  as 
Loth  returns  her  love.  But  it  avails  naught, 
for  Loth  under  his  hygienic  flannel  shirt  is  the 
possessor  of  a  coarse-grained  socialist  conscience 
and  peremptory  principles.  Like  most  men  of 
his  political  faith,  he  has  read  an  alarming  deal. 


HAUPTMANN  137 

Accordingly  he  has,  among  other  things,  very 
decided  views  on  marriage ;  to  put  it  shortly,  to 
him  no  daughters  of  tainted  parents  need  apply. 
Without  losing  much  time  over  the  customary 
conflict  bred  of  such  a  predicament,  Loth  gives 
up  Helene.  The  socialist  dogma  is  safe !  And  in 
order,  probably,  to  save  herself  from  an  unspeak- 
able assault  by  her  own  ribald  father,  Helene  stabs 
herself  to  death  —  Before  Sunrise. 

There  are  not  many  books  in  the  literature  of 
the  world  which  spread  about  them  an  atmos- 
phere so  reeking  with  vice  and  horror  as  this 
socialistic  drama.  Tolstoi's  The  Power  of  Dark- 
ness and  Zola's  LSAssommoir  and  La  Terre  are 
its  nearest  of  kin.  But  even  these,  in  spite  of 
their  dread  aspect,  do  not  present  such  a  spec- 
tacle of  condensed  hideousness.  A  confirmed 
drunkard  committing  suicide  —  at  the  age  of 
three!  a  father  who  lusts  after  his  own  daughter! 
(When  we  encounter  such  things,  do  we  not  feel 
like  apologizing  to  Dr.  Alfred  Loth  for  our 
sentimental  disapproval  of  his  course  towards 
Helene  ?)  the  distressing  cries  of  a  woman  in 
labor  issuing  from  an  adjacent  room !  —  for  the 
full-fledged  "  naturalist "  physiological  details  like 
these  have  no  horrors :  it  is  otherwise  with  the 


138  MODERN  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

spectator.  When  after  coming  home  from  the 
revolting  entertainment  he  has  thoroughly  dis- 
infected himself  by  a  hot  tubbing,  a  man  will 
naturally  ask,  Does  such  a  degenerate  assort- 
ment of  the  species  man  have  any  place  on 
the  foreground  of  the  stage?  Granted  that  the 
play  is  "  true  " ;  for  it  will  not  do  to  affirm,  as  has 
been  done  by  the  unsophisticated,  that  such 
scum  of  society  does  not  really  exist,  because 
forsooth  Rosegger  and  Anzengruber,  Auerbach 
and  Fritz  Reuter  have  portrayed  peasant  life  in 
such  different  colors;  or  that  such  pest-holes  as 
Farmer  Krause's  home  are  never  found  in  rural 
parts,  and  that  Vor  Sonnenaufgang  is  the  prod- 
uct of  a  pure  culture  of  rustic  vice  raised  by 
Hauptmann  in  the  coziness  of  his  Berlin  work- 
room. Still  we  may  in  fairness  inquire  of  the 
naturalist,  Why  this  surfeit  of  ugliness  when  life 
is  not  ugly  a  potiori?  Or  are  we  to  believe  that 
the  Krauses  and  their  tribe  form  not  an  excep- 
tion but  the  rule  ?  In  such  a  case  what  were 
there  left  for  us  city  dwellers  to  do  but  wage 
a  holy  war  against  all  country  folk  ?  The  lan- 
guage of  the  drama  is  as  disgusting  as  the  inci- 
dents; in  no  other  play  has  Hauptmann  sinned 
so  unpardonably  against  common  decorum,  for 


HAUPTMANN  139 

he  soon  realized  that  the  naturalistic  method 
can  be  applied  to  a  higher  order  of  social  pro- 
cesses. 

The  foregoing  must  not  for  a  moment  be 
taken  as  an  unduly  biased  judgment.  Nothing 
could  be  more  alien  to  the  spirit  of  this  book 
than  factious  or  dogmatic  opposition  to  "  mod- 
ernism." Hauptmann's  Vor  Sonnenaufgang,  how- 
ever, was  felt  to  be  an  overdose  which  the 
moderns  themselves  could  not  altogether  stom- 
ach. One  of  their  chieftains,  Conrad  Alberti, 
burlesqued  this  sordid  tragedy  of  gin  and  lust. 
His  skit  bears  the  alluring  title  Im  Suff  ("  In 
Booze"),  and  the  charming  motto  Die  Liebe 
und  der  Suff,  das  reibt  den  Menschen  uff  ("  Twixt 
love  and  booze,  one  goes  to  the  deuce  ").  Haupt- 
mann's pedantically  circumstantial  stage  direc- 
tions are  capitally  taken  off.  "  Dr.  Krawutschke  " 
is  thus  presented  to  the  reader :  "  He  wears 
striped  trousers,  a  checked  jacket,  and  soiled 
linen.  The  left  shoe  is  down  at  the  heel,  but  not 
noticeably  so.  He  speaks  very  rapidly  in  abrupt 
sentences,  with  a  decided  touch  of  the  Saxon 
dialect  (he  was  born  in  Scheffel  Street,  Dres- 
den)." At  the  close  Alberti  makes  the  ghost  of 
Lessing  appear  and  say,  "  Is  this  a  theater  or  a 


140  MODERN  GERMAN   LITERATURE 

pigsty  ? "  This  product,  coming  from  one  of  the 
apostles  of  the  new  art-creed,  deserves  attention 
if  only  for  the  sake  of  the  epigram  with  which  it 
dismisses  the  reader :  "  To  befoul  Art  is  not  to 
free  it "  (Die  Kunst  beschmutzen  heifit  nicht  sie 
befrei'it], 

Such,  then,  was  Hauptmann's  first  play.  His 
next,  Das  Friedensfest  ("  The  Feast  of  Peace  ") 
(1890)  —  the  title  is  an  abortive  attempt  at  grim 
irony  —  deals  not  with  the  degeneration  of  a 
whole  family,  as  Vor  Sonnenaufgang,  nor  with 
any  deep-reaching  human  depravity,  but  with 
the  supposedly  inevitable  fate  of  a  certain  group 
of  pathologically  predisposed  individuals  who 
are  thrown  together  as  a  family.  Held  against 
its  predecessor,  this  play  does  not  present  any 
essentially  new  features.  Again  it  has  to  do  with 
a  segment  from  a  family  history  which,  so  far 
as  it  goes,  unrolls  itself  in  a  series  of  imper- 
fectly dovetailed  scenes,  although  there  is,  all 
doctrinaire  assertions  to  the  contrary  notwith- 
standing, not  absent  a  constructive  groundwork. 
Once  more  the  havoc  wrought  by  alcohol  forms 
the  foregone  refrain  of  the  sad  old  story.  Once 
more  we  learn  with  dismay  how  loosely,  accord- 
ing to  a  modern  view,  the  bonds  of  family  life 


HAUPTMANN  141 

are  tied,  and  how  wantonly  they  are  ruptured 
by  straining  egoism.  Fritz  Scholz,  M.D.,  and 
Minna,  by  twenty-two  years  his  junior,  are  part- 
ners in  an  uncongenial  marriage.  The  doctor,  a 
hypochondriac  by  constitution,  takes  it  much  to 
heart  that  his  wife  fails  to  understand  him.  We 
shall  have  occasion  to  observe  that  many  of 
Hauptmann's  heroes  keep  him  company  in  this 
form  of  misery.  Indeed,  this  failure  to  be  under- 
stood, like  the  curse  of  alcohol,  is  one  of  the 
fixed  motives  in  his  dramaturgy.  In  the  present 
instance  the  two  are  connected  as  cause  and 
effect  in  that  Dr.  Scholz  seeks  consolation  in 
winebibbing.  Already  we  are  sufficiently  con- 
versant with  a  third  leitmotif,  that  of  heredity, 
to  foresee  that  at  least  one  of  the  children  must 
have  a  fondness  for  liquor.  There  are  three  of 
them :  a  pinched  old  maid  of  a  daughter  and  two 
sons.  Robert,  aged  twenty-eight,  has  the  physi- 
cal and  moral  earmarks  of  a  degenerate ;  along 
with  a  predilection  for  strong  drink  he  owes  to 
his  progenitor  a  morbid  excitability  ;  of  his  bodily 
infirmities  youthful  dissipations  are  the  direct 
cause,  but,  naturally,  the  real  blame  for  these 
falls  also  on  his  ancestry.  (At  Jena  Hauptmann 
had  become  deeply  interested  in  Darwinism,  and 


142  MODERN  GERMAN   LITERATURE 

in  his  plays  he  frequently  draws  the  bold  infer- 
ences characteristic  of  the  layman.)  The  second 
son,  Wilhelm,  aged  twenty-six,  has  by  virtue  of 
a  powerful  constitution  escaped  the  consequences 
of  youthful  excesses;  but  to  prove  that  he  also 
has  come  in  for  his  share  in  the  patrimony,  he 
shows,  besides  a  vehement  temper,  promising 
symptoms  of  persecution-mania.  While  still  very 
young  both  boys  had  run  away  from  the  unbear- 
able tyranny  of  the  father  and  learned  to  shift  for 
themselves.  Later  the  family  was  reunited,  when 
a  terrible  catastrophe  again  drove  them  apart. 
In  his  unjustifiable  jealousy  of  a  visiting  musician 
old  Dr.  Scholz  wrongfully  accused  his  wife  of 
infidelity ;  for  this  he  was  punished  by  the  hands 
of  his  own  younger  son.  He  then  left  his  home, 
the  sons  following  his  example  separately.  This 
chapter  of  history  now  six  years  old  is  unrolled 
with  great  skill  after  the  Ibsen  fashion  in  the 
course  of  the  first  act.  The  curtain  rises  on  the 
Christmas  preparations  of  the  Scholz  household. 
The  festival  of  "  Peace  on  Earth  "  brings  a  gen- 
eral family  reconciliation.  The  father,  who  in  the 
meantime  has  undergone  a  severe  nervous  crisis, 
returns  unexpectedly  and  joins  the  reunited  circle. 
Wilhelm,  in  a  scene  of  frightful  pathos,  receives 


HAUPTMANN  143 

his  father's  forgiveness.  His  promised  wife,  Ida 
Buchner,  dispels  by  her  firm  love  and  confidence 
his  intermittent  scruples  about  drawing  her  into 
his  sullied  existence.  So  things  look  wholly  aus- 
picious to  the  unscientific  observer.  Suddenly, 
and  for  no  visible  cause,  jarring  discords  destroy 
the  precarious  harmony  and  the  family  feud 
breaks  out  afresh.  The  barely  reconciled  brothers 
clash  again;  the  father  banishes  the  diabolic 
Robert  from  his  house,  then  relapses  into  his 
mania  and  disappears  (end  of  act  ii)  from  the 
scene.  At  the  conclusion  of  the  third  act  he  dies. 
The  kindly,  resolute  Frau  Buchner  has  had  am- 
ple opportunity  during  her  brief  visit  to  repent 
of  her  purpose  to  bring  peace  into  the  family  so 
haplessly  torn  by  incessant  strife ;  and  we  won- 
der greatly  at  her  consent  to  the  marriage  be- 
tween Wilhelm  and  Ida.  The  author  apparently 
feels  obliged  to  account  for  her  readiness,  and  he 
does  it  strangely  enough  by  showing  that  Frau 
Buchner  is,  in  the  depths  of  her  resigned  heart, 
herself  in  love  with  her  daughter's  betrothed 
and  more  solicitous  about  his  future  happiness 
than  about  her  own  daughter's.  This  fruitful 
motive  is  not  further  exploited,  nor  is  that  other 
world-old  one  of  the  rival  brothers  more  than 


144  MODERN   GERMAN   LITERATURE 

suggested  in  the  evident  infatuation  of  Robert 
for  his  brother's  fiancee.  Towards  the  end  Wil- 
helm  suffers  a  rather  telling  attack  of  persecu- 
tion-mania, which  sets  him  thinking  and  again 
makes  him  waver  in  his  resolution  to  marry  Ida; 
but  being  without  Alfred  Loth's  oversensitive 
conscience,  he  will  marry  all  the  same  and  take 
his  chances  on  Ida's  future  happiness. 

The  play  thus  terminates  in  one  of  those  large 
question  marks  with  which  the  works  and  the 
heads  of  the  modern  school  are  so  abundantly 
equipped. 

The  next  play,  Einsame  Menschen  ("  Lonely 
Souls")  (1891),  is  better  rounded  out.  Things 
are  this  time  carried  to  a  final  issue  in  that  the 
hero,  Hans  Vockerat,  perishes  after  Hauptmann's 
favorite  method  —  by  suicide.  Nevertheless,  it  is 
a  question  whether  the  definite  problem  of  mod- 
ern life  which  is  here  tackled  in  good  earnest  is 
fairly  worked  out.  How,  indeed,  is  such  a  thing 
possible  without  the  use  of  psychologic  resources  ? 
And  we  know  that  these  are  eschewed  by  the 
rigid  naturalist ! 

What,  then,  is  the  theme  of  Einsame  Menschen? 
The  inner  dissonance  of  a  man  torn  betwixt 
religion  and  science,  between  the  duties  of  son 


HAUPrMANN 

and  husband  and  the  calling  of  the  inner  voice, 
a  struggle  forsooth  from  which  an  unstable  nature 
like  that  of  Johannes  Vockerat  may  well  seek 
escape  in  death.  Yet  Hauptmann,  by  adding  still 
another  pang  to  his  hero's  sufferings,  has  weak- 
ened the  probability  of  the  tragic  end.  For  be  it 
remembered  that,  dramatically  speaking,  only  that 
ending  seems  probable  which  we  accept  as  neces- 
sary. And  there  is  no  compelling  reason  for 
Johannes'  drowning  himself  because  the  Russian 
student  Anna  Mahr,  for  whom  he  has  conceived  a 
crotchety  sort  of  love,  prepares  to  go  out  of  his 
life.  The  fact  is,  Johannes  dies  because  from  the 
very  beginning  he  is  under  irrevocable  sentence  of 
death  pronounced  by  the  author,  a  decree  which 
furnishes  the  greatest  weakness  in  Einsame  Men- 
schen.  In  all  other  technical  respects  the  play 
marks  a  considerable  progress.  In  the  first  place, 
the  details  of  the  new  technic  are  now  handled 
with  much  greater  freedom  ;  consequently  they 
do  not  have  to  monopolize  the  author's  attention. 
He  is  at  liberty  to  bestow  greater  care  on  the 
larger  features ;  and  it  must  be  said  that  Einsame 
Menschen  is  one  of  the  best-composed  plays  of  the 
modern  stage.  The  events  shape  themselves  with 
a  very  fair  show  of  natural,  intelligent  sequence. 


146  MODERN   GERMAN   LITERATURE 

Much  critical  capital  has  been  made  out  of  the 
resemblance  of  Hauptmann's  piece  to  Ibsen's 
Rosmersholm.  Undeniably  Hauptmann  has  stud- 
ied to  good  effect  the  style  and  method  of  the 
great  Norwegian,  and  there  is  analogy  in  the  sit- 
uations too.  To  me  the  German  play  appeals  as 
the  truer  of  the  two  so  far  as  the  humanity  of  the 
characters  goes.  Psychologically  these  characters 
are  certainly  better  founded  than  those  in  Haupt- 
mann's own  earlier  plays,  a  circumstance  which 
may  safely  be  attributed  to  the  author's  better 
acquaintance  with  the  social  class  to  which  they 
belong.  When  dealing  with  such  people  he 
descends,  almost  unintentionally,  below  the  crust 
of  appearances  to  the  springs  of  action.  Unfortu- 
nately the  central  situation  is,  as  has  been  hinted, 
too  calculated,  too  preestablished,  to  be  much 
affected  by  the  better  mind-reading  powers  of 
the  author. 

The  simple  action  oiEinsame  Menschen  revolves 
round  one  of  those  persons  for  whom  Goethe  dis- 
covered the  appellation  Problematische  Naturen 
(problematic  characters).  Johannes  Vockerat  is 
studying  to  be  a  theologian,  when  through  Dar- 
win and  Haeckel  the  drift  of  the  modern  scien- 
tific era  is  forcibly  borne  upon  him.  He  forsakes 


HAUPTMANN  147 

theology  and  becomes  a  philosopher  of  the  psy- 
cho-physiological school,  though  the  old  orthodox 
Adam  is  not  quite  dead  within  him.  For  years 
he  has  now  been  fretting  over  his  prospective  mag- 
num opus.  But  it  is  safe  to  say  he  would  never 
have  achieved  the  work,  even  if  Hauptmann's  five- 
act  tragedy  had  not  effectually  cut  him  off  from 
the  possibility,  for  he  is  a  man  with  a  broken  will. 
We  meet  his  brothers  and  cousins  everywhere  in 
Hauptmann's  dramatic  world.  The  family  type  is 
classically  expressed  in  Master  Heinrich  of  "The 
Sunken  Bell  "  celebrity.  Johannes  loves  his  wife 
for  a  while  and  after  a  fashion ;  but  when  by 
chance  he  meets  Anna  Mahr  he  finds  that  she 
is  more  congenial  to  him.  She  understands  him, 
and,  mark  well,  he  has  never  been  understood 
before.  So  he  falls  in  love  with  her,  after  a  fash- 
ion, and  now  we  behold  him  swinging  to  and  fro 
between  two  poles  of  amatory  attraction,  just  as 
he  has  all  the  time  been  the  shuttlecock  between 
the  battledores  of  two  opposite  philosophies.  His 
curse  is  indecision  ;  his  only  stability  is  in  his  self- 
love,  for  Johannes  Vockerat  loves  himself  at  all 
times  and  after  every  fashion.  He  talks  a  great 
deal  about  himself,  a  great  deal  about  his  work. 
Somehow  he  expects  all  the  world  to  pave  and 


148  MODERN   GERMAN   LITERATURE 

smooth  the  way  for  it,  and  as  its  prospective  author 
deems  himself  excused  from  all  the  practical  obli- 
gations that  fall  to  the  head  of  a  well-ordered 
family.  When  his  poor,  loving  Kate  meekly  ques- 
tions him  regarding  a  vital  business  matter,  he 
coarsely  insults  her  for  breaking  in  upon  his 
valuable  trend  of  thought.  Explicitly  he  declares 
that  he  will  regulate  his  conduct  according  to 
this  formula:  "  My  work  comes  first.  That  comes 
first  and  second  and  third ;  the  '  practical '  does 
not  come  until  after  that,  if  you  please."  A  man 
with  such  a  disposition  is  foredoomed  either  to 
a  life  of  solitude  or  to  a  life  of  failure.  There 
is  enough  misfortune  in  Johannes  Vockerat's 
temperament  without  the  supervention  of  a  for- 
bidden love.  The  troublous  aspect  of  such  Wer- 
therian  characters  as  Johannes  was  for  a  long 
time  of  absorbing  interest  to  Hauptmann.  He 
dedicated  Einsame  Menschen  to  those  who  "had 
lived  through"  the  tragedy.  And  yet  such  con- 
flicts as  are  here  portrayed  were  then  (1891) 
seemingly  foreign  to  his  personal  experience.  But 
this  need  not  matter,  perhaps,  in  any  literary  form 
save  the  lyric.  Einsame  Menschen  bodies  forth 
the  experiences  of  another  man,  "  observed,"  it  is 
true,  with  a  wonderful  keenness,  yet  unfortunately 


HAUPTMANN  149 

not  —  in  true  poet  fashion  —  relived  by  the  dra- 
matist. And  so  one  could  not  help  wishing  that 
this  highly  gifted  man  might  for  once  under- 
take a  task  the  execution  of  which  would  vitally 
involve  the  cooperation  of  his  own  acquired 
experiences,  or  at  least  of  deep-rooted,  settled 
sympathies. 

This  opportunity  offered  itself  in  the  natural- 
istic tragedy  Die  Weber  ("  The  Weavers"),  pub- 
lished in  1892,  first  performed  in  1893,  originally 
composed  in  dialect  (De  Wader),  afterwards  trans- 
lated by  the  author  into  "  literary  "  German  with 
a  still  more  than  sufficient  Silesian  flavoring. 
This  performance  of  Hauptmann's  is  replete  with 
warmest  personal  feeling  and  wholly  free  from 
mere  sentimental  zeal,  for  he  himself  as  the  de- 
scendant of  poor  labor-driven  linen  weavers  holds 
their  grievance  that  cries  to  heaven  as  part  and 
parcel  of  his  heritage.  From  this  personal  par- 
ticipation in  the  wrongs  perpetrated  against  the 
weavers  the  play  derives  a  strong  emotional  swing, 
rising  at  times  to  the  full  height  of  rhetorical 
pathos,  as  in  the  impassioned  tirade  of  Luise  Hilse 
against  the  manufacturers.  It  was  simply  impos- 
sible for  a  subject  that  yielded  so  wide  a  space 
for  personal  feeling  to  be  treated  without  a  betrayal 


150  MODERN  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

of  the  author's  social  creed.  "  The  Weavers  "  is 
the  tragedy  of  hunger  driven  at  last  to  despera- 
tion. In  Hauptmann's  view  the  responsibility  for 
the  wretchedness  of  his  proletarians  rests  evenly 
with  the  manufacturers  because  they  carry  on  a 
ruthless  scheme  of  spoliation,  and  with  the  state 
because  it  stands  by  and  allows  the  merciless  ex- 
ploitation of  the  laborer.  The  workmen  who  now 
flock  to  the  performances  of  Die  Weber  and  wildly 
applaud  its  sentiment  are  very  apt  to  forget  that 
such  a  simple  socialistic  analysis  of  the  case  will 
hardly  apply  to  conditions  of  to-day.  That  in 
some  parts  of  the  world  there  still  exist  such 
slave  drivers  as  Herr  Dreissiger  (at  first,  after 
the  original,  he  was  called  Zwanziger)  is  unfortu- 
nately not  to  be  denied ;  but  to  regard  such  a 
man  as  the  pattern  of  the  propertied  class  would 
betray  a  perilous  hastiness  of  judgment.  At  any 
rate,  it  is  certainly  unfortunate  for  the  play  that  it 
owes  its  actual  interest  so  largely  to  the  fact  that 
in  it  the  antagonism  which  in  a  sufficiently  acute 
form  exists  at  all  times  between  labor  and  capital 
here  usurps  the  place  of  a  concrete  dramatic  hero. 
In  respect  to  dramatic  movement  this  play  is 
inferior  to  its  predecessors.  Each  act  brings  a 
startlingly  vivid  scene  of  life,  and  yet  the  whole 


HAUPTMANN  1 5 1 

is  unsatisfying  to  the  dramatic  sense.  In  the  first 
act  we  are  shown  the  cruelly  realistic  picture 
of  an  industrious,  good-natured,  withal  stolidly 
patient  people,  brought  low  by  grinding  toil,  and 
unable  to  live  on  its  pitiful  wage.  Unfortunately 
Hauptmann  has  not  exaggerated.  The  history  of 
the  "famine  districts"  of  Silesia  is  even  more 
grewsome  than  his  dramatic  tale.  For  nearly 
three  centuries  the  weavers  were  fighting  against 
starvation,  and  only  once,  in  the  summer  of  1844,* 
they  rose  in  frenzy  against  their  masters.  The 
rebellion  was  promptly  suppressed  before  much 
damage  had  been  done  to  anybody  except  the 
weavers. 

About  the  middle  of  the  past  century  the  life 
that  these  poor  folk  of  the  Silesian  "  Eulengebirge" 
region  led  in  fairly  good  times  was  unworthy  of 
human  beings.  Their  situation  in  hard  times 
beggars  description.  Mother  Baumert,  whom  a 
longish  stage  direction  describes  as  accurately 

1  Gerhart  Hauptmann  became  familiar  with  the  details  of  that  up- 
rising through  a  special  history  written  by  Alfred  Zimmermann,  a 
political  economist,  who  published  in  1885  an  exhaustive  study  of  the 
conditions  of  the  Silesian  linen  industry.  But  he  had  been  touched 
much  earlier  by  the  sadness  of  their  lot  through  stories  current  in  his 
immediate  family,  and  he  declares  in  dedicating  Die  Weber  to  his  father 
that  the  latter's  story  of  his  own  father,  who  had  passed  his  earlier  life 
at  the  loom,  was  the  real  germ  of  his  tragedy. 


152  MODERN  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

as  though  a  warrant  were  out  for  her  apprehen- 
sion, gives  a  fair  idea  of  their  physical  condition : 
"  A  face  wasted  to  the  bone,  with  folds  and  wrin- 
kles in  the  bloodless  skin;  sunken  eyes,  watery 
and  inflamed  from  the  dust  of  the  wool,  smoke, 
and  overwork  by  candlelight;  a  long,  scrawny 
neck  with  a  goiter;  a  hollow  chest  swathed  in 
rags  and  tatters."  In  the  second  and  third 
acts  the  spark  of  rebellion  is  carried  among  the 
down-trodden  weavers  from  without.  A  son  of 
the  village,  having  served  his  military  term  in  the 
city,  returns,  bringing  with  him  the  spirit  of  ven- 
geance, and  fires  the  weavers  with  enthusiasm 
for  the  "  propaganda  of  action";  the  bad  gin  from 
the  tavern  infuses  additional  courage,  and  they 
determine  to  settle  accounts  with  their  oppressors. 
In  the  fourth  act  the  agitator  is  arrested  and 
shackled,  but  on  his  way  to  prison  he  is  rescued 
by  the  rioters  from  the  grasp  of  the  law,  and  the 
revolt  breaks  out  in  full  force.  Dreissiger's  house 
is  attacked  and  ravaged.  The  life  of  the  usually 
so  peaceful  district  is  thrown  into  the  wildest  dis- 
order. And  so,  at  the  end  of  the  fourth  act,  the 
patent  purpose  of  the  tragedy  is  accomplished. 
There  is  no  good  reason  why  the  author  should 
not  give  the  word  right  here  for  the  royal  musketry 


HAUPTMANN  153 

to  rattle  the  death  tattoo  for  the  poor  insurgents, 
since  dramaturgically  considered  there  can  be 
no  other  way  out  of  the  chaos.  There  is,  how- 
ever, yet  a  fifth  act,  which  practically  constitutes 
a  separate  play;  for  the  affecting  death  of  God- 
fearing old  Hilse,  who  to  the  end  refuses  to  take 
part  in  the  riot,  is  not  tragic  in  the  sense  of  dra- 
matic art,  rather  it  seems  a  satire  on  the  injustice 
of  fate  that  the  poor  fellow  is  killed  by  a  stray 
bullet  at  his  loom  just  when  he  has  so  stoutly 
declared  :  "  Here  my  heavenly  Father  has  placed 
me.  .  .  .  Here  we  are  going  to  sit  and  do  what 's 
our  duty,"  etc.  Any  one  whose  critical  sense  is 
not  entirely  blunted  by  the  woeful  distress  which, 
as  a  unique  motive  with  variations,  dominates 
the  action  from  beginning  to  end,  feels,  as  the 
curtain  finally  hides  the  undying  misery  from  his 
view,  that  this  play  more  than  any  other  work  of 
Hauptmann's  pen  shows  that  its  author  follows 
the  drama  without  a  genuine  dramatic  vocation. 
Such  as  it  is,  without  a  hero  to  whom  as  to  the 
natural  center  the  interest  might  chiefly  gravi- 
tate, without  a  more  than  inferential  solidarity  of 
its  parts,  with  its  final  violent  severance  of  the 
threads  and  filaments  of  the  plot,  "  The  Weavers" 
has  aside  from  its  vivacious  realism  chiefly  a 


154  MODERN   GERMAN   LITERATURE 

humanitarian  value ;  it  is,  drawn  out  into  five 
long  acts,  the  blood-curdling  outcry  of  an  outraged 
class  of  society,  who,  lacking  the  leadership  of  a 
superior  intelligence  which  might  help  them  to 
strike  off  their  shackles  for  good,  allow  themselves 
to  follow  shortsighted  ringleaders  and  to  vent  their 
just  anger  in  acts  of  wanton,  insensate  destruc- 
tion, forthwith  to  acknowledge  with  thanks  the 
drastic  lesson  given  them  by  the  ruling  powers, 
and  under  the  accustomed  yoke  to  drag  on  the 
old  calamitous  existence. 

Its  power  to  draw  forth  deep  human  sympathy 
is  the  prime  reason  why  this  tragedy,  despite  its 
slenderness  of  incident  and  its  technical  short- 
comings, has  established  Hauptmann  in  public 
opinion  as  the  foremost  tragic  writer  of  Germany. 
And  to  be  sure,  for  those  who  have  to  resort  to 
the  theater  for  instruction  regarding  the  naked 
facts  of  common  life,  or  for  those  who  need  to  be 
dosed  with  a  literary  quintuple  extract  of  human 
misery  because  their  dyspeptic  consciences  fail  to 
react  under  the  stimulus  of  natural  aliment,  — 
for  such  "  The  Weavers "  might  pass  for  the  very 
acme  of  creative  power.  And  as  for  those  who  in 
their  own  lives  have  gone  through  the  misery 
which  "  The  Weavers "  demonstrates  ad  oculos, 


HAUPTMANN  155 

the  impression  made  by  the  tragedy  upon  them 
is  so  self-explanatory  that  we  need  not  find  fault 
with  the  censor  because,  paternally  solicitous  for 
the  common  weal,  he  failed  to  fling  wide  the 
gates  of  the  playhouses  for  "  The  Weavers." x  He 
may  have  remembered,  in  these  days  of  labor 
troubles,  that  in  the  good  old  time  the  estimable 
and  worshipful  aldermen  of  Leipzig  canceled  the 
permit  for  the  presentation  of  Schiller's  "  The 
Robbers "  during  the  annual  Fair  held  in  that 
ancient  and  honorable  town  on  the  ground  that 
there  would  be  enough  stealing  done  at  this  time 
anyway.  In  forming  an  unbiased  estimate  of 
Hauptmann's  play,  we  should  not  be  deceived 
by  its  eloquent  plea  for  the  submerged  portion 
of  humanity  into  ascribing  the  deep  impression 
infallibly  produced  by  "  The  Weavers "  to  any 
artistic  superexcellence.  Hauptmann,  to  modify  a 
charge  once  made  by  Nietzsche  against  Richard 
Wagner,  entices  us  into  the  theater  with  the 
promise  of  a  dramatic  entertainment,  and  once 
he  has  us  securely  pinned  down  into  our  seats, 
proceeds  so  to  crush  us  with  the  force  of  a  severe 

1  The  performance  is  now  licensed  in  Germany.  (See  p.  150.)  Yet  in 
this  country,  if  I  mistake  not,  the  anarchist  John  Most  was  enjoined 
from  playing  the  piece. 


156  MODERN  GERMAN   LITERATURE 

lecture  that  we  forget  everything  except  the  elo- 
quently presented  rights  and  wrongs  of  the  case. 

Structurally  "The  Weavers"  is  below  the  stand- 
ard of  the  earlier  dramas.  As  for  the  diction, 
Hauptmann  still  keeps  under  strict  restraint  that 
glorious  power  of  expression  by  which  in  his 
later  works  he  won  universal  admiration.  In  his 
endeavor  to  make  the  people  talk  just  as  they 
would  in  real  life,  he  resists  unyieldingly  each  and 
every  suggestion  of  stylistic  improvement  offered 
by  his  better  artistic  sense.  Undeniably  he  is  a 
master  of  the  mean  language  of  the  people.  Yet 
the  confusing  jargon  and  the  copious  billingsgate 
fall  strangely  from  such  refined  lips.  Even  now 
occasionally,  in  minor  ways,  we  see  the  irrepress- 
ible lyrist  gain  the  upper  hand,  so  that  we  are 
not  wholly  unprepared  to  find  the  poet  giving 
full  rein  to  his  lyric  genius  in  later  works. 

The  play,  even  in  its  "German"  translation, 
loses  much  through  the  broad  Silesian  twang; 
the  relentless  accuracy  of  the  naturalist  partially 
defeats  its  own  end  when  we  can  only  with  diffi- 
culty make  out  the  speeches  of  his  characters. 
Die  Weber  has  to  do  with  a  very  much  lower 
stratum  of  society  than  either  Das  Friedensfest  or 
Einsame  Menschen,  both  of  which  plays  were 


HAUPTMANN  157 

wholly  free  from  grossness  and  smut.  We  are 
therefore  prepared  for  rather  strong  things  to 
happen  in  the  speech  and  doings  of  these  Pariahs 
of  German  society ;  and  the  author  does  not  dis- 
appoint the  expectation.  To  his  honor  be  it  said 
that  Hauptmann  is  one  of  the  most  clean  minded 
of  men,  and  that  he  has  never,  not  even  in  "  Before 
Sunrise,"  been  a  cultivator  of  the  revolting  and 
obscene  from  sinister  motives.  While  he  is  un- 
doubtedly very  open  to  the  prepotent  currents 
in  the  literary  taste  of  his  countrymen,  owing  to 
his  exquisitely  susceptive  nature,  he  is,  so  far  as 
his  intentions  go,  swayed  by  no  mercenary  design 
upon  the  flippancy  and  sensational  proclivities  of 
the  theater-goers.  On  the  other  hand,  he  does 
not  recoil  before  any  ugliness  so  long  as  he  be- 
lieves it  to  be  helpful  in  the  dramatic  revelation 
of  truth.  It  seems  to  me,  however,  that  in  "  The 
Weavers,"  as  in  "  Before  Sunrise,"  he  oversteps 
the  limits  of  the  permissible.  In  the  second  act 
we  are  forced  to  witness  the  preparations  for  the 
Baumert  family's  festive  dinner.  For  two  years 
these  poor  people  have  had  no  taste  of  meat. 
The  roast  that  is  now  sizzling  on  their  pan 
represents  the  mortal  remains  of  the  pet  dog. 
Of  this  we  are  informed  through  our  eyes,  ears, 


158  MODERN   GERMAN   LITERATURE 

and  noses,  nay  we  are  not  even  spared  full  knowl- 
edge of  the  disgusting  consequences  which  the 
unwonted  reception  of  animal  diet  has  for  Father 
Baumert's  enfeebled  stomach.  I  do  not  think 
that  reportorial  conscientiousness  need  go  to  such 
length.  Reportorial  conscientiousness  is  said  ad- 
visedly, for  unfortunately  Hauptmann  cannot  be 
accused  of  exaggeration.1 

The  two  short  stories,  or  "  novelistic  studies," 
as  they  are  called  by  the  author,  Bahnwarter 
Thiel  ("Flagman  Thiel "),  written  in  1887,  and 
Der  Apostel  ("The  Apostle"),  written  in  1890, 
may  be  conveniently  mentioned  in  this  place,  as 
they  were  published  together  in  book  form  very 
shortly  after  "  The  Weavers  "  (1892). 

"  Flagman  Thiel  "  is  unquestionably  influenced 
by  Zola,  and  inspired  by  Hauplrnann's  sympathy 
for  the  spiritual  life  of  the  lowly,  which  is  so 
pronounced  in  the  dramas  from  "  The  Weavers  " 
on  to  his  last  production,  the  infanticide  tragedy 
Rose  Bernd,  It  is  the  tragic  story  of  a  poor 
railroad  hand  who  marries  a  second  time  for  the 
sake  of  his  idolized  boy.  The  stepmother,  a 
coarse,  violent,  brutal  wench,  maltreats  the  little 
fellow  atrociously.  Thiel,  who  returns  only  at 

1  See  pp.  151  f. 


HAUPTMANN  159 

fixed  times  from  his  post  in  the  woods,  and  who, 
besides,  is  under  the  power  of  his  new  wife,  is  long 
ignorant  of  the  true  state  of  things.  When  he 
discovers  it  he  loses  all  balance.  His  spiritual 
disintegration  from  that  moment  on  to  his  total 
collapse  over  the  accidental  death  of  little  Tobias 
and  the  maniacal  killing  of  the  wife  and  baby  is 
the  chief  object  of  the  "  study."  Not  only  is  this 
object  so  well  attained  as  by  itself  to  cause  a 
lively  regret  that  the  author  has  not  essayed  the 
epic  form  more  frequently;  Hauptmann  also  re- 
veals, as  indeed  was  to  be  confidently  expected  in 
view  of  his  plays,  a  rare  descriptive  gift.  The 
wonderful  description  of  the  nocturnal  loneli- 
ness of  a  landscape  gradually  set  aquiver  and  afire 
by  the  approach  of  the  train  is  a  marvel  of  lov- 
ing observation.  It  is  not  the  conventional  ono- 
matopoeic rhapsody  of  the  puffing  and  panting 
engine,  the  clash  and  clatter  of  the  wheels  and 
rails;  nor  the  picture  of  the  soulless  monster 
painted  so  often,  perhaps  best  by  Emile  Zola  in 
Bete  humaine, — or  of  the  vitalized  machine  which 
from  literary  over-use  has  a  touch  of  the  stereo- 
typic,  even  in  Kipling's  capital  ".007."  Haupt- 
mann's  nature-sense  seizes  upon  the  finest  nuances 
of  light  and  sound.  The  music  of  the  whirring 


160  MODERN   GERMAN   LITERATURE 

telegraph  wires,  the  rhythmic  welcome  sung  by 
the  steel  tracks  and  gradually  changing  into  deaf- 
ening turmoil  is  caught  to  perfection.  Still  more 
entrancing  is  the  truly  realistic  and  none  the 
less  highly  poetic  depiction  of  the  light-effects. 
It  is  a  pity  that  so  drastic  a  power  of  description 
must  seek  its  usual  outlet  in  the  minion  and  non- 
pareil of  stage  directions. 

Der  Apostel gives  still  wider  space  to  the  genius 
of  Hauptmann.  Written  about  the  time  when 
the  first  three  plays  were  completed,  it  sounds 
almost  like  the  signal  of  deliverance  from  natu- 
ralism. Hauptmann  tries  in  this  study  to  fathom 
a  finely  susceptible  but  mystically  attuned  soul 
gliding  by  degrees  from  an  exalted  religious  mood 
into  religious  paranoia.  Here  again  he  is  not 
without  a  literary  model.  The  sketch  of  the  poet 
Lenz  by  George  Buchner  serves  him  as  such. 
And  a  living  model,  too,  was  in  his  mind :  the 
religious  eccentric,  Johannes  Gutzeit.  The  frag- 
ment shows  the  "  Apostle,"  who  was  formerly  an 
army  officer,  in  the  early  morning  hour,  passing 
white  robed  through  the  streets  of  Zurich  out 
into  the  country.  In  the  presence  of  nature 
he  experiences  strange  hallucinations  and  mys- 
terious raptures.  The  fragment  breaking  off 


HAUPTMANN  l6l 

rather  abruptly  leaves  the  Apostle  in  the  ecstatic 
belief  that  he  is  the  Christ.  This  transition  from 
a  mere  overwrought  mental  state  to  one  of  pro- 
nounced monomania  is  developed  with  consum- 
mate skill.  Yet  on  the  whole  Bahnwarter  Thiel 
deserves  the  prize  over  Der  Apostel,  since  the 
latter  is  in  fact  only  a  "  study,"  while  the  former 
presents  itself  as  a  finished  "short  story." 

The  next  drama  shows  Hauptmann  still  firmly 
clinging  to  naturalism  and  striking  up  again  his 
favorite  tune,  the  old  yet  ever  new  song  of  King 
Alcohol.  The  central  figure  in  Kollege  Cramp- 
ton  ("  Colleague  Crampton  ")  (1892)  is  a  talented 
painter,  who  has  fallen  into  evil  and  idle  ways,  and 
to  whom  the  whisky  bottle  has  to  make  amends 
for  all  blighted  hopes  and  stunted  or  shattered 
ideals.  In  briefest  terms  his  misfortunes  may 
be  diagnosed  as  congenital  instability  aggra- 
vated by  domestic  woes.  At  any  rate,  from  the 
beginning  to  the  end  of  the  play  he  is  a  tipsy 
buffoon  and  a  bankrupt  financially,  morally,  and 
artistically.  The  action  of  the  comedy  begins  on 
the  morning  when  the  reigning  duke  inspects 
the  art  academy  where  Colleague  Crampton  (one 
cannot  help  wondering  why)  is  still  tolerated  as 
a  teacher.  Crampton,  to  whom  the  duke  has 


1 62  MODERN  GERMAN   LITERATURE 

formerly  been  very  kind,  sets  extravagant  hopes 
on  this  visit.  The  news  that  His  Highness  has 
left  the  school  without  so  much  as  inquiring  for 
him  puts  the  good-natured  idler  utterly  beside 
himself.  Now  blow  upon  blow  follows  in  rapid 
succession.  His  wealthy  wife  leaves  him,  his 
goods  are  attached,  he  is  asked  to  resign  his 
professorship.  He  must  leave  his  snug  studio, 
the  scene  of  his  protracted  inactivity ;  with  full 
sail  he  sets  his  course  towards  his  inevitable 
destination  —  the  gutter.  It  must  be  added  that 
Crampton  divides  his  valuable  affections  between 
the  aforementioned  whisky  bottle  and  his  own 
lovely  daughter,  Gertrude.  At  the  present  junc- 
ture the  whisky  bottle  accompanies  him  to  cheer 
his  exile,  whereas  the  lovely  daughter,  who  loy- 
ally sides  with  him  against  her  mother,  remains 
behind.  She  is  befriended  by  Max  Strahler  (Strah- 
ler  was  the  maiden  name  of  Hauptmann's  mother), 
a  favorite  pupil  of  Professor  Crampton,  who  has 
been  expelled  from  the  academy  because  of  fool- 
ish pranks  (an  experience  which  befell  young 
Gerhart  Hauptmann  himself  while  an  art  stu- 
dent at  Breslau),  but  who,  out  of  gratitude  to  his 
former  teacher,  finds  for  the  daughter  a  home 
among  his  relatives. 


HAUPTMANN  163 

Up  to  this  point  we  have  before  us  the  not 
unskillful  exposition  of  a  piece  which  so  far 
secedes  from  the  accepted  code  of  dramaturgy 
as  to  resist  classification;  judging  by  this  part 
of  the  play  (acts  i  and  ii)  alone,  one  cannot  say 
for  the  life  of  him  whether  the  plot  makes  for  a 
comedy  or  a  tragedy.  From  here  on  things  jog 
along  helter-skelter  in  the  naturalistic  groove,  a 
course  of  affairs  which  does  not  prevent  the 
remaining  acts  from  bristling  with  improbabili- 
ties. For  instance,  one  whole  act  is  taken  up 
with  Max's  fruitless  search  for  the  whereabouts 
of  the  jolly  old  reprobate.  We  are  expected  to 
believe  that  in  a  German  town  of  medium  size 
a  well-known  inhabitant  can  disappear  as  quickly 
and  effectually  as  the  proverbial  needle  in  the 
haystack.  Adolf  Strahler,  Max's  older  brother,  is 
too  sensible  to  believe  as  the  audience  must,  and 
discovers  the  hiding  place  of  the  missing  artist 
without  any  trouble.  In  the  third  act  Cramp- 
ton  pops  up  in  a  wretched  pothouse,  hopelessly 
befuddled,  having  during  all  that  time  assidu- 
ously soaked  his  ever  thirsty  soul.  Here  at  the 
head  of  a  delegation  of  merry-making  philistines 
a  master  house  painter  makes  Crampton,  in  good 
faith  and  with  due  modesty,  the  generous  offer 


1 64  MODERN  GERMAN   LITERATURE 

of  permanent  and  fairly  well  paying  work.  Well, 
why  not  ?  Many  a  better  man  in  Crampton's 
situation  has  found  himself  face  to  face  with  a 
similar  proposition,  and  ofttimes  the  offer  has  not 
been  scorned.  Yet  the  author  of  "  Colleague 
Crampton "  would  have  us  believe  that  the 
painter's  harmless  though  clumsy  suggestion  is 
rank  arrogance  and  hollow  mockery,  and  that  it 
conveys  an  insult  so  awful  that  even  a  Cramp- 
ton  is  almost  sobered  by  it.  In  what  —  we  might 
then  appeal  from  Crampton  drunk  to  Crampton 
sober  —  does  the  honest  fellow's  crime  consist? 
Is  his  trade  in  itself  dishonoring  ?  Or  does  he 
intend  through  this  offer  to  lower  Crampton's 
genius  in  the  eyes  of  the  world  ?  Or  are  we  to 
regard  the  scene  as  symbolic  of  the  sad  yoking 
of  the  artist's  genius  by  an  unfeeling,  commer- 
cialized age  ?  Certainly  this  would  be  reading 
into  the  play  more  of  tendency  than  were  good 
for  its  realism!  And,  by  the  way,  how  do  we 
know  that  Crampton  is  a  real  genius  ?  Must  we 
appraise  him  at  his  own  estimate? 

The  above  incident  marks  the  tip  of  the  ascend- 
ing action.  Immediately  afterward  Max  appears, 
pays  the  debts  of  his  future  father-in-law,  —  for 
this  relationship  he  has  diligently  prepared  the 


HAUPTMANN  165 

way,  —  and,  having  secretly  bought  up  the  auc- 
tioned possessions  of  the  professor,  piece  by 
piece,  leads  him  in  the  last  act  back  to  the  new 
studio,  furnished  precisely  like  the  old  one. 
And  what  is  the  first  thing  Crampton  does? 
He  pulls  himself  together  after  the  agreeable 
shock,  yields  to  the  prompting  of  his  heart,  and 
ferrets  out  with  feverish  haste  his  beloved  gin 
bottle  from  its  familiar  hiding  place  —  if  the 
actor  whom  I  saw  in  the  part  interpreted  him 
aright.1  Nai've  people  have  wondered  why  just 
at  the  end  Crampton  should  cap  his  fatherly 
blessing  with  an  anticlimax  by  calling  young 
Strahler  a  blockhead.  Probably  in  his  good 
nature  he  pities  the  luckless  husband  who  is 
saddling  himself  with  such  a  precious  specimen 
of  a  father-in-law.  The  drama  "  Colleague  Cramp- 
ton  "  suffers  from  an  incurable  weakness,  the 
absolute  lack  of  character  in  its  hero.  And  like 
its  predecessors  it  is  again  without  a  definitive 
conclusion  so  far  as  it  deals  with  Crampton's  fate, 
because  no  rational  person  will  be  optimistic 
enough  to  believe  in  the  permanent  reform  of 
the  old  backslider. 

1  This  "  business,"  however,  is  not   indicated   in  the   text  of  the 
play. 


1 66  MODERN  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

The  next  of  Hauptmann's  works  in  order  of 
publication  is  Der  Biberpelz  ("  The  Beaver  Coat") 
(1893),  a  naturalistic  comedy  of  provincial  life. 
Inasmuch,  however,  as  it  is  linked  together  with 
Der  rote  Hahn  (1901)  by  a  sort  of  personal  union, 
through  the  identity  of  the  principal  characters, 
we  shall  postpone  its  consideration  for  the  pres- 
ent and  turn  our  attention  to  another  play. 

With  Hannele  (1893)  Hauptmann  planted  his 
feet  on  a  different  ground  from  that  which  he 
had  hitherto  stood  on.  Had  he  not  reverted  to 
naturalism  after  "  The  Sunken  Bell,"  we  might 
regard  Hannele  as  the  bridge  that  spans  the 
gulf  between  his  two  widely  separated  phases  of 
artistic  creation.  That  even  so  this  imaginative 
play  betokens  an  experimental  departure  from 
absolute  realism  is  seen  at  first  glance  in  the 
outward  form,  in  the  shifting  from  prose  to  verse, 
and  back  again.  Who  would  have  expected  a 
concession  like  that  from  the  associate  of  Holz 
and  Schlaf,  from  a  dramatist  who  hitherto  had 
felt  obliged  utterly  to  scorn  rime,  monologue, 
and  many  other  recognized  technical  contriv- 
ances !  And  yet  one  ought  to  be  prepared 
for  abrupt  changes  in  a  poet  whose  fundamental 
mood  results  from  the  commixture  of  radical 


HAUPTMANN  167 

and  reactionary  tendencies,  and  has  much  in  com- 
mon with  the  cloudy  world-conception  of  the 
Romantics  of  old,  —  a  poet,  moreover,  by  no 
means  free  from  vanity,  who  seems  to  be  inces- 
santly aiming  to  surprise  the  world  and  chain 
criticism  to  his  triumphal  car.  Hauptmann  will- 
ingly lets  himself  be  swept  along  with  the  tide 
of  popular  sentiment,  but  feeling  himself,  justly, 
a  Triton  among  the  minnows,  he  loves  to  swim 
in  the  lead. 

I  have  already  stated  that  in  the  realm  of  the 
fairy  tale  lies  the  sole  territory  of  which  Haupt- 
mann is  lord.  Unquestionably,  the  poet  himself 
never  realized  this  limitation.  And  it  may  even 
be  that  he  would  never  have  exercised  his  genius 
in  that  field  had  not  the  Mdrc/iendrama  just  then 
enjoyed  growing  favor  as  a  dramatic  specialty; 
witness  the  phenomenal  success  of  Fulda's  Orien- 
tally costumed  Der  Talisman  (1893),  the  homely 
opera  Hansel  und  Gretel  (text  by  Adelheid 
Wette,  music  by  E.  Humperdinck),  and  other 
similar  works  of  legend  origin.  It  is  not  acci- 
dental that  the  commingling  of  naturalism  and 
fantastic  idealism  is  brought  about  in  Hannele 
through  the  poetic  device  of  a  dream.  That  form 
of  all  others  lends  itself  most  readily  to  the  bold 


1 68  MODERN   GERMAN    LITERATURE 

experiment,  for  the  dramatic  reproduction  of  a 
dream  does  not  presuppose  strict  causality  and 
sequence.  As  every  dream  is  woven  of  reality 
and  imagination,  it  thus  affords  a  sort  of  neutral 
territory  for  two  forces  which  are  apparently 
antagonistic  in  the  contemporary  practice  of  art. 
In  the  Marchendrama  of  earlier  periods,  notably 
in  the  efforts  of  its  great  masters  Raimund 
and  Grillparzer,  the  dream  serves  to  introduce 
romantic  situations  which  may  be  resolved  at 
a  moment's  notice  to  give  place  to  the  actu- 
alities of  real  life.  The  contrivance  is  simple 
enough :  at  the  critical  moment  the  hero  is 
made  to  return  to  waking  consciousness.  But 
while  the  trance  lasts  the  poet  has  a  fine  oppor- 
tunity to  expose  the  intimate  soul-life  of  his 
characters.  Usually  an  allegoric  or  didactic  pur- 
pose is  conveyed ;  so  in  Raimund,  Grillparzer, 
and  Fulda. 

By  the  form  chosen,  the  harsh  contrasts  pre- 
sented in  Hannele  —  its  alternation  of  prose  and 
verse,  vulgar  dialect  and  cultivated  speech,  its 
constant  clash  between  the  squalor  of  the  milieu 
and  the  glorious  forms  shaped  by  the  poet's 
vaulting  imagination  —  are  excused  or  at  least 
extenuated.  We  view  with  easy  tolerance  the 


HAUPTMANN  169 

bold  adversative  of  poorhouse  and  heaven,  pau- 
pers and  angels,  of  sweet,  pious  Hannele  and  the 
village  slattern  Hete.  The  dramatic  presupposi- 
tions are  arbitrary,  inconsistent,  and  impossible. 
It  is  intended  that  the  entire  action  should  be 
tangible  and  each  personality  stand  out  con- 
cretely ;  for  this  the  author  depends,  as  usual,  to 
an  unreasonable  degree  on  the  make-up  of  the 
characters.1 

On  the  other  hand,  the  center  of  interest  is 
translated  from  the  actual  to  a  world  of  appari- 
tions, and  the  most  powerful  imagination  of  the 
audience  is  put  into  commission  to  picture  Han- 
nele lying  fatally  ill  in  bed  and  at  the  same  time 
taking  part  in  a  commedia  dell'  arte  born  of  her 
feverish  visions. 

To  account  for  the  astonishing  success  of 
Hannele,  —  at  first  the  play  bore  the  title  Han- 
nele s  Himmelfahrt  ("The  Assumption  of  Han- 
nele ")  —  it  is  only  necessary  to  read  it  in  an 
unprejudiced  frame  of  mind.  From  every  line 
of  it  pours  forth  that  rich  stream  of  purest 
human  sympathy,  which,  flowing  from  a  true 

1  Here  is  an  example :  "  Enter  Magistrate  Berger,  a  Captain  of  the 
Reserves,  as  no  one  can  fail  to  notice."  Is  such  a  stage  direction  any- 
thing short  of  unconscious  comicality,  in  view  of  the  fact  that  the 
magistrate  is  in  civilian  clothes  ? 


1 70  MODERN  GERMAN   LITERATURE 

poet-soul,  bubbles   up  irresistibly  even   through 
the  naturalistic  rubbish  of  the  earlier  works. 

The  plot  in  Hannele  is  almost  as  lean  and 
somber  as  in  the  former  efforts  of  Hauptmann. 
In  his  drunken  rage  a  ruffianly  stepfather  so 
maltreats  his  fourteen-year-old  daughter  that  she 
seeks  refuge  in  death  and  throws  herself  into  the 
water.  She  is  pulled  out  by  kindly  people  and 
carried  to  the  poorhouse  for  nursing.  Here  the 
village  schoolmaster,  a  deaconess,  the  country 
doctor,  the  magistrate,  even  several  inmates  of 
the  poorhouse,  take  loving  care  of  the  unfortu- 
nate child.  But  she  is  past  human  help.  Her 
terrible  agitation  and  the  fever  have  between 
them  irreparably  shattered  her  frail  little  body. 
Delirium  colors  things  and  people  with  the  hues 
of  her  childish  fantasy.  The  poet  with  exqui- 
site touch  ushers  us  into  the  atmosphere  of  dream- 
land. In  the  dream  action  the  characters  are  none 
other  than  the  persons  of  the  sick-room  trans- 
figured by  the  imagination  of  the  little  sufferer. 
Her  desperate  act,  too,  is  thus  glorified,  for  she 
is  under  the  delusion  that  Jesus  himself  invited 
her  into  the  water.  All  that  passes  is  unreal, 
and  yet  in  the  fantastic  action  how  much  of 
Hannele's  soul  is  revealed !  We  descend  to  the 


HAUPTMANN  1 7 1 

depths  of  her  subconscious  being,  just  as  by  a 
different  process  we  are  led  to  know  the  un- 
guarded souls  of  the  mad  Ophelia  and  Gretchen. 
The  poet  has  succeeded  in  making  Hannele's 
hallucinations  entirely  vivid  to  the  reader,  nota- 
bly when  he  conjures  up  before  her  eyes  the 
terrifying  appearance  of  her  bestial  stepfather. 
And  at  the  same  time  his  adequate  art  has 
penciled  with  discreetly  delicate  lines  the  first 
dawning  love  experience  of  the  ripening  young 
girl.  To  attain  such  truly  poetic  results  Haupt- 
mann  had  to  rise  subjectively  above  his  crude 
material.  Therein  lies  the  significance  of  Han- 
nele  for  his  art-practice.  The  naturalists  have 
often  proclaimed  their  self-satisfied  belief  that 
it  is  far  more  difficult  to  objectify  a  transverse 
section  of  real  life  from  without  than  to  build 
up  its  semblance  from  the  inner  consciousness. 
In  Hannele  Hauptmann  undertakes  to  expose  to 
view  a  transverse  section,  as  it  were,  of  a  human 
soul.  He  makes  a  practical  attempt  at  psychol- 
ogy. Certainly  this  is  an  infinitely  difficult  and 
delicate  task,  and  one  which  in  the  present  in- 
stance could  be  accomplished  only  with  the  assist- 
ance of  old  and  well-tried  dramatic  expedients. 
But  he  has  not  discarded  the  modern  technical 


172  MODERN  GERMAN   LITERATURE 

acquisitions,  either.  Hannele,  in  fact,  represents 
the  application  of  modern  technic  to  an  all  but 
obsolete  variety  of  the  drama.  Or  is  it  other  than 
melodramatic  when  we  see  shadowy  forms  flit,  to 
the  strains  of  soft  music,  across  the  simple  soul 
of  the  little  martyr  who  languishes  in  rags  on 
her  bed  of  straw,  while  fever  dreams  delude 
her  with  the  fabulous  splendor  of  her  celestial 
reward  ? 

Hannele  is  a  melodrama,  even  in  the  current 
meaning  of  the  word,  i.e.  an  Ausstattungsstuck. 
We  see  with  wonder  the  stout  disciple  of  Bjarne 
Holmsen  throwing  himself  into  the  circles  of  the 
spectacular  play.  The  elaborate  allegorical  ap- 
paratus readily  calls  to  mind  the  second  part  of 
Faust  and  Ferdinand  Raimund's  magic  pieces. 
But  more  than  these  plays  Hannele  is  instinct 
with  genuine  human  pathos. 

True  it  is,  as  has  been  pointed  out,  that  the 
component  elements  of  the  play  are  at  variance 
with  one  another,  yet  in  the  effect  produced  by 
Hannele  as  a  whole  the  outer  visible  misery  is 
only  subservient  to  the  touching  portrayal  of 
Hannele's  martyrdom  and  deliverance.  The  nat- 
uralistic part  of  Hannele  is  decidedly  secondary 
in  importance  to  the  idealistic. 


HAUPTMANN  1 73 

The  technical  treatment  of  the  desolate  environ- 
ment against  which  the  idealized  figure  of  Hannele 
stands  out  in  shining  relief  is  fully  in  accord  with 
the  method  employed  in  "Before  Sunrise"  and 
"  The  Weavers."  In  the  higher  sphere  Haupt- 
mann's  genius  bursts  the  somber  chrysalis  and, 
spreading  its  brilliant  wings,  soars  high  above  the 
arid  sobriety  of  the  actual.  Who  would  have  sus- 
pected so  much  splendor  of  rhythm  and  color  in 
the  author  of  "  The  Weavers  "  ?  Listen  to  the 
entrancing  "  Song  of  the  Stranger  " : 

THE  SONG  OF  THE  STRANGER1 

The  City  of  the  Blessed  is  marvellously  fair, 

And  peace  and  utter  happiness  are  never-ending  there. 

The  houses  are  of  marble,  the  roofs  of  gold  so  fine, 

And  down  their  silver  channels  bubble  brooks  of  ruby  wine. 

The  streets  that  shine  so  white,  so  white,  are  all  bestrewn  with 

flowers, 

And  endless  peals  of  wedding  bells  ring  out  from  all  the  towers. 
The  pinnacles,  as  green  as  May,  gleam  in  the  morning  light, 
Beset  with  flickering  butterflies,  with  rose-wreaths  decked  and 

dight. 

Twelve  milk-white  swans  fly  round  them  in  mazy  circles  wide, 
And  preen  themselves,  and  ruffle  up  their  plumage  in  their  pride ; 

1  The  translation  is  from  the  English  version  of  the  play  by 
W.  Archer  (Heinemann,  London,  1898). 


174  MODERN   GERMAN   LITERATURE 

They  soar  aloft  so  bravely  through  the  shining  heavenly  air, 

With  fragrance  all  a-quiver  and  with  golden  trumpet-blare ; 

In  circle-sweeps  majestical  forever  they  are  winging, 

And  the  pulsing  of  their  pinions  is  like  harp-strings  softly  ringing. 

They  look  abroad  o'er  Sion,  on  garden  and  on  sea, 

And  green  and  filmy  streamers  behind  them  flutter  free  — 

And  underneath  them  wander,  throughout  the  heavenly  land, 

The  people  in  their  feast-array,  forever  hand  in  hand ; 

And  then  into  the  wide,  wide  sea,  filled  with  the  red,  red  wine, 

Behold  !  they  plunge  their  bodies  with  glory  all  a-shine  — 

They  plunge  their  shining  bodies  into  the  gleaming  sea, 

Till  in  the  deep  clear  purple  they  're  swallowed  utterly ; 

And  when  again  they  leap  aloft  rejoicing  from  the  flood, 

Their  sins  have  all  been  washed  away  in  Jesus'  blessed  blood. 

InHannele  we  have  seen  that  Hauptmann  takes 
himself  out  of  the  file  of  the  intransigent  natu- 
ralists. It  was  Karl  Gutzkow  who  once  said, 
"  Every  true  poet  becomes  a  symbolist,  but  for 
the  poet  of  masculine  temperament  history  pro- 
vides the  guise."  That  is  to  say,  for  the  aspirations 
of  such  a  poet  the  historical  drama  supplies  the 
fittest  vehicle  of  expression.  Now  it  has  been 
stated  of  Hauptmann,  without  any  disparage- 
ment of  his  high  poetic  virtues,  that  he  is  not 
properly  a  poet  of  the  masculine  type.  For  this 
reason  his  experiment  in  historical  drama  mis- 
carried. 


HAUPTMANN  175 

The  historical  drama,  more  than  any  other  form 
of  literary  production,  demands  on  the  part  of 
its  author  the  exercise  of  hard,  uncompromis- 
ing logic  and  a  keen  historical  sense ;  both  are 
beyond  Hauptmann's  capacity.  Karl  Bleibtreu 
hits  the  point  exactly  when  he  finds  in  Haupt- 
mann's Florian  Geyer  only  the  outer  garb  of  an 
epoch,  not  its  flesh  and  sinew. 

With  the  first  representation  on  the  stage  of 
his  one  historical  play  (January  4,  1896)  our  poet 
experienced  his  first  and  only  complete  failure.1 
From  the  effects  of  this  blow  it  is  said  he  has 
never  been  able  to  recover.  I  believe  that  Haupt- 
mann's severance  from  extreme  naturalism  was 
indirectly  responsible  for  this  fiasco.  While  still 
under  the  spell  of  that  doctrine  the  poet  had 
undertaken  with  might  and  main  the  great  experi- 
ment foreshadowed  in  "  The  Weavers  "  of  apply- 
ing the  so-called  scientific  method  to  a  strictly 
historical  subject.  He  may  have  anticipated  for 
his  work  the  same  explosive  effect  that  was  pro- 
duced in  the  eighteenth  century  by  Goethe's 
G'otz  von  Berlichingen.  During  the  execution  of 

1  Very  recently  the  play,  in  an  abridged  and  somewhat  altered  form, 
has  been  staged  again ;  at  the  present  writing  it  is  being  given  with  fair 
success  in  Berlin. 


176  MODERN  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

the  project,  however,  he  had  begun  to  recover 
from  naturalism  in  its  acutest  form.  It  is  ex- 
tremely difficult  for  an  artist  under  the  circum- 
stances either  to  throw  away  his  work  or  to 
recast  it.  The  original  notions  with  obsessive 
force  determine  its  form.  So  Hauptmann  worked 
on  with  broken  purpose  and  laboriously  com- 
pleted the  work  in  the  same  manner  in  which 
it  was  begun  ;  the  result  satisfied  neither  the  old 
standard  nor  the  new. 

The  historic  Florian  Geyer,1  who  resembles  in 
many  points  the  Knight  of  Berlichingen,  was  the 
ablest  and  most  loyal  leader  of  the  insurgents. 
Had  it  been  Sudermann  who  handled  this  theme 
he  would  undoubtedly  have  found  the  tragedy 
to  consist  in  the  fact  that  Geyer,  who  though  a 
noble  by  birth  forsakes  his  hereditary  sphere  to 
champion  the  rights  of  the  seditious  peasants 
and  stand  sponsor  for  their  most  radical  demands, 
is  repudiated  by  both  factions  and  cruelly  hounded 
to  death  because  he  holds  right  and  justice  higher 
than  party  allegiance.  This  tragedy  of  the  de- 
classe Hauptmann  barely  indicates.  The  leader 
of  the  "  Black  Band "  falls  out  with  his  merce- 
nary fellow  rebels  and  cannot  outlive  the  wreck 

1  See  Bensen's  History  of  the  Peasant  War  in  East  Franconia  in  JJ2J. 


HAUPTMANN  177 

of  the  ideals  he  has  defended.  For  the  rest 
Hauptmann  is  content  to  paint  in  broad  diorama 
a  succession  of  impressionistic  pictures  of  the  long 
ago,  joined  together  after  a  fashion,  yet  not  sum- 
ming up,  somehow,  to  a  full-orbed  dramatic  action. 
So  far  as  we  are  informed  through  the  play  alone 
the  end  is  too  much  like  an  unfortunate  accident. 
A  true  dramatist  must  be  able  to  persuade  us  that 
the  end  could  not  possibly  have  been  otherwise.1 
Another  fault  of  this  much  too  long  tragedy  is 
that  it  lacks  an  orderly  arrangement.  The  chaotic 
action  is  disconcerting  and  disturbs  the  compo- 
sure indispensable  for  aesthetic  enjoyment.  The 
historic  background  is  woven  in  with  undeniable 
skill,  but  in  the  end  one  loses  the  thread  in  the 
maze  of  details.  Finally  the  diction,  for  which 
Hauptmann  had  so  diligently  scoured  the  old 
chronicles,  is  a  stumbling-block  for  a  modern 
audience.  Without  at  all  impugning  its  accuracy, 
how  much  has  been  actually  gained  for  the 
realism  of  the  play  when  the  result  of  repristina- 
tion  is  to  make  the  utterance  sound  strange  and 
harsh  to  all  but  to  the  German  philologian  ? 

1  The  drama  should  be  the  place  where  we  may  see,  more  easily 
recognizable  than  in  actual  life,  the  universal  operation  and  validity  of 
irresistible  law.  —  E.  WOODBRIDGE,  The  Drama,  its  Law  and  its  Tech- 
nique, p.  44. 


1 78  MODERN  GERMAN   LITERATURE 

In  one  respect  Florian  Geyer  resembles  "  The 
Weavers."  In  Hauptmann's  hands  Florian  is  not 
the  real  hero,  holding  the  dramatic  interest  from 
beginning  to  end.  The  principal  role  is  played 
by  the  singular  uprising  of  one  whole  social  estate 
against  another,  or  if  one  looks  for  something  at 
least  more  concrete,  "  Poor  Conrad,"  the  rebellious 
peasantry,  is  the  surrogate  hero,  just  as  the  starv- 
ing proletariat  was  in  "  The  Weavers."  But  the 
greater  dramatic  weakness  of  the  newer  play  comes 
to  light  in  the  fact  that  the  poet  is  silent  as  to 
the  cause  of  the  uprising.  The  rebel  peasants  of 
the  rank  and  file  do  not  appear  until  the  fifth  act, 
so  that  we  are  not  directly  moved  to  pity  by  their 
lot;  possibly  Hauptmann  takes  it  for  granted 
that  we  remember  all  about  their  woes  from  our 
high-school  days.  The  cast,  by  the  way,  comprises 
no  fewer  than  sixty-one  persons. 

Geyer  does  not  stand  out  in  bold  relief  against 
the  large  and  confused  living  background  as  does 
Shakespeare's  Julius  Caesar  or  Coriolanus.  The 
attempt  to  characterize  each  of  so  many  figures 
detracts  from  his  due  importance  as  the  central 
figure.  Hauptmann  is  not  enough  of  a  dramatist 
to  have  succeeded  in  an  indirect  characteriza- 
tion of  his  hero,  such  as  Schiller  gives  when  he 


HAUPTMANN  1 79 

prepares  us  so  happily  for  the  domineering  figure 
of  Wallenstein  by  picturing  the  spirit  that  rules 
in  his  camp,  explaining  thus,  even  before  the 
commander  appears,  his  transgression  and  down- 
fall through  his  forceful,  dangerful  influence  over 
the  masses. 

These  various  failings  effectually  blocked  for 
Florian  Geyer  the  way  to  public  favor  at  a  time 
when  amid  the  exultant  joy  that  greeted  Wilden- 
bruch's  trilogy  Heinrich  und  Heinrichs  Geschlecht 
("  King  Henry  and  his  House")  (1896)  it  seemed 
as  if  ultra-naturalism  were  now  to  be  marched  out 
of  the  theater  to  the  familiar  beat  of  Schiller's 
iambic  pathos. 

Hauptmann  misconstrued  the  symptomatic  sig- 
nificance of  this  defeat,  which  was  a  censure  less 
for  the  man  than  for  the  school  by  which,  after  all, 
he  stood  with  but  partial  allegiance.  His  sicklied 
imagination  exaggerated  the  meaning  of  his  failure, 
as  though  he  had  staked  all  his  power  on  a  great 
undertaking  and  had  found  to  his  utter  dismay 
that  his  strength  was  inadequate. 

Out  of  his  ungrounded  despondency  sprang  the 
germ  of  a  new  poem  calculated  to  allay  his  self- 
distrust  :  an  allegoric  work  which,  far  outstripping 
anything  he  had  previously  performed,  insured 


l8o  MODERN  GERMAN   LITERATURE 

for  many  years,  perhaps  forever,  an  honorable 
place  for  his  name  among  those  who  by  satisfy- 
ing the  best  judges  of  their  own  time  deserve  to 
live  for  all  ages. 

f  Denn  wer  den  Besten  seiner  Zeit  genug 
Getan,  der  hat  gelebt  fur  alle  Zeiten. 

"  The  Sunken  Bell "  is  just  as  little  a  drama 
as  Hannele,  perhaps  even  less  so,  but  neverthe- 
less it  is  an  art  work  of  singular  beauty,  couched 
in  language  of  a  poetic  splendor  unparalleled  in 
modern  letters  and  fraught  with  a  pure  and  truly 
German  inwardness.  The  real  worth  of  this  poem 
does  not  lie  in  its  far-sought  symbolism,  but  in  the 
wondrous  atmosphere  suffusing  the  whole  and 
transporting  us  by  its  magic  into  the  heart  of 
the  old  romantic  land  of  Tieck,  Eichendorff,  and 
Fouque,  where  the  brooks  babble  and  the  trees 
whisper  and  the  winds  make  music  to  it  all.  In 
this  fantastic  world  Gerhart  Hauptmann  fairly 
revels,  combining  in  his  all-perceptive  sense  for 
the  beauties  and  mysteries  of  nature  the  eye  of  a 
Bocklin  with  the  ear  of  a  Mendelssohn- Bartholdy. 
Never  yet  has  a  poet  stood  in  a  more  intimate 
sensuous  relation  to  nature ;  at  least  no  poet  has 
been  more  successful  in  vivifying  her. 


HAUFFMANN  l8l 

Out  of  the  well  among  the  soughing  pines, 
spluttering  and  blinking,  the  Nickelmann  (water 
sprite)  pulls  himself  up,  annoyed  at  first  by  the 
unaccustomed  glare  of  the  spring  sunshine.  From 
the  thicket  the  wood  sprite  capers  into  the  clear- 
ing, a  comical,  carnal-minded  fellow,  goat  footed, 
horned,  and  whiskered,  pipe  in  mouth,  a  swarm  of 
flies  buzzing  round  him.  He  has  broken  away 
for  a  while  from  the  humdrummery  of  domestic 
life,  for  a  change  from  the  boresome  Missus  and 
her  nine  dirty  little  brats,  and  now  drinks  in  con- 
tentedly the  joy  of  May-time.  The  smell  of  spring- 
tide is  in  the  air,  as  Rautendelein  reminds  the 
Nickelmann : 

Ay,  ay  — 

It  smells  of  springtide.    Well,  is  that  so  strange? 

Why,  every  lizard,  mole,  and  worm,  and  mouse  — 

The  veriest  water-rat  —  had  scented  that. 

The  quail,  the  hare,  the  trout,  the  fly,  the  weeds, 

Had  told  thee  spring  was  here  — 

What  a  fascinating  familiarity  with  the  noc- 
turnal gambols  of  the  elfin  folk  is  felt  in  the 
charming  roundelay  !  * 

1  The  passages  from  "  The  Sunken  Bell "  are  quoted  from  the  excel- 
lent translation  of  the  play  by  Charles  Henry  Meltzer  (Doubleday  & 
McClure  Company,  New  York,  1901). 


1 82  MODERN  GERMAN   LITERATURE 

First  Elf  (whispering) 

Sister  ! 

Second  Elf  (as  above) 

Sister  ! 

First  Elf  (as  above) 

White  and  chill 

Shines  the  moon  across  the  hill. 
Over  bank  and  over  brae, 
Queen  she  is  and  queen  shall  stay. 

Second  Elf 
Whence  com'st  thou? 

First  Elf 

From  where  the  light 
In  the  waterfall  gleams  bright, 
Where  the  glowing  flood  doth  leap 
Roaring  down  into  the  deep. 
Then,  from  out  the  mirk  and  mist, 
Where  the  foaming  torrent  hissed, 
Past  the  dripping  rocks  and  spray, 
Up  I  swiftly  made  my  way. 

Third  Elf  (joining  them) 

Sisters,  is  it  here  ye  dance? 

First  Elf 
Wouldst  thou  join  us  ?     Quick  —  advance  ! 

Second  Elf 
And  whence  com'st  thou? 

Third  Elf 

Hark  and  hist ! 

Dance  and  dance,  as  ye  may  list ! 


HAUPTMANN  183 

'Mid  the  rocky  peaks  forlorn 
Lies  the  lake  where  I  was  born. 
Starry  gems  are  mirrored  clear 
On  the  face  of  that  dark  mere. 
Ere  the  fickle  moon  could  wane, 
Up  I  swept  my  silver  train. 
Where  the  mountain  breezes  sigh, 
Over  clove  and  crag  came  I. 

Fourth  Elf  (entering) 

Sisters  ! 

First  Elf 
Sister  !    Join  the  round  ! 

All  (together) 

Ring-a-ring-a-ring-around  ! 

Fourth  Elf 

From  Dame  Holle's  flowery  brae, 
Secretly  I  stole  away. 

First  Elf 
Wind  and  wander,  in  and  out. 

All  (together) 

Ring-a-ring-a-round-about ! 

(Lightning  and  distant  thunder.) 

(Enter  suddenly,  from  the  hut,  Rautendelein.     Clasping  her  hands  behind  her  head, 
she  watches  the  dance  from  the  doorway.    The  moonlight  falls  full  on  her.) 

Rautendelein 
Ho,  my  fairies  ! 

First  Elf 

Hark  !    A  cry  ! 


184  MODERN   GERMAN   LITERATURE 

Second  Rlf 
Owch  !    My  dress  is  all  awry  ! 

Rautendelein 
Ho,  ye  fairies  ! 

Third  Elf 

Oh,  my  gown  ! 
Flit  and  nutter,  up  and  down. 

Rautendelein  (joining  in  the  dance) 

Let  me  join  the  merry  round, 
Ring-a-ring-a-ring-around  ! 
Silver  nixie,  sweetest  maid, 
See  how  richly  I  'm  arrayed. 
All  of  silver,  white  and  rare, 
Granny  wove  my  dress  so  fair. 
Thou,  my  fairy,  brown,  I  vow 
Browner  far  am  I  than  thou. 
And,  my  golden  sister  fair, 
I  can  match  thee  with  my  hair. 
Now  I  toss  it  high  —  behold, 
Thou  hast  surely  no  such  gold. 
Now  it  tumbles  o'er  my  face  : 
Who  can  rival  me  in  grace? 

All  (together) 

Wind  and  wander,  in  and  out, 
Ring-a-ring-a-round-about ! 

Hauptmann's  genius  has  power  to  gift  with 
life  from  the  welling  spring  of  his  own  rich  artist 
soul  all  the  elemental  forces  of  nature.  In  "The 


HAUPTMANN  185 

Sunken  Bell "  whatever  moves,  lives.  Hear  the 
spell  spoken  by  Rautendelein  as  she  bustles  about 
the  hearth  over  her  work  as  sick-nurse : 

Flickering  spark  in  the  ash  of  death, 
Glow  with  life  of  living  breath  ! 
Red,  red  wind,  thy  loudest  blow  ! 
I,  as  thou,  did  lawless  grow  ! 

Simmer,  sing,  and  simmer  ! 

(The  flame  leaps  up  on  the  hearth.) 

Kettle  swaying  left  and  right — 
Copper-lid,  thou  'rt  none  too  light ! 
Bubble,  bubble,  broth  and  brew, 
Turning  all  things  old  to  new  ! 
Simmer,  sing,  and  simmer  ! 

Green  and  tender  herbs  of  spring 
In  the  healing  draught  I  fling. 
Drink  it  sweet,  and  drink  it  hot — 
Life  and  youth  are  in  the  pot ! 
Simmer,  sing,  and  simmer  ! 

Just  as  long  as  Hauptmann  symbolically  vivi- 
fies nature  his  poetry  pours  forth  with  a  sponta- 
neous and  irresistible  charm.  "  The  Sunken  Bell " 
is  instinct  with  an  all-embracing  nature-sense; 
nearly  the  whole  gamut  of  nature's  varying  moods 
is  run,  from  the  awful  to  the  idyllic.  But  as  soon 
as  he  oversteps  his  limitations  and  tries  through 


1 86  MODERN   GERMAN   LITERATURE 

the  symbol  to  give  concrete  shape  to  the  unsub- 
stantial, the  forces  that  rule  within  or  above  in- 
sentient nature,  he  finds  them  inconvertible  and 
quickly  loses  himself  in  subtilties.  To  submit  just 
one  example,  it  is  decidedly  farfetched  when  at 
the  beginning  of  the  fourth  act  the  six  talents 
involved  in  the  creation  of  a  poetical  work,  to  wit: 
Intellect,  Energy,  Inspiration,  Indecision,  Self- 
Criticism,  and  Self-Discipline,  are  personified  as 
six  dwarfs  forced  into  servitude  by  the  bell  founder 
Heinrich.  By  a  Goethe  growing  old  and  whim- 
sical we  meekly  allow  ourselves  to  be  mystified ; 
but  even  from  such  a  Goethe  to  Hauptmann  it  is 
a  far  cry. 

"  The  Sunken  Bell "  has  appeared  in  an  almost 
unprecedented  number  of  editions  in  the  original 
text,  and  it  has  been  turned  several  times  into 
English ;  of  these  translations  that  of  Mr.  Meltzer 
is,  in  my  opinion,  the  one  in  spirit  most  allied  to 
the  original.  The  play  has  been  performed  in  this 
country  by  German  actors,  including  that  ideal 
Rautendelein,  Agnes  Sorma,  and  it  has  been  pro- 
duced also  under  American  management,  with  a 
cast  to  be  sure  which  failed  to  catch  the  elfin 
airiness  of  the  piece.  At  any  rate,  the  story  is 
so  well  known  —  even  "  Mr.  Dooley "  has  made 


HAUPTMANN  187 

capital  out  of  it  —  that  we  may  save  ourselves 
the  ungrateful  task  of  turning  at  length  so  exqui- 
sitely dainty  a  composition  into  barren  prose. 
About  its  symbolic  meaning,  however,  something 
must  be  said. 

The  story,  briefly  retold,  runs  thus:  A  bell, 
intended  to  proclaim  afar  the  praise  of  the  Crea- 
tor and  the  fame  of  its  maker,  falls  down  a  steep 
bank  and  is  lost  in  the  mountain  lake.  The 
maker,  heartsick  because  he  has  discovered  that 
the  bell  is  not  the  masterpiece  it  is  thought  to 
be  by  all  the  people,  'throws  himself  after  his 
handiwork. 

I  fell.    I  know  not  how  —  I  've  told  thee  that  — 
Whether  the  path  gave  way  beneath  my  feet, 
Whether  't  was  willingly  I  fell,  or  no  — 
God  wot.    Enough.    I  fell  into  the  gulf. 

But  he  does  not  perish.  Half  dead  from  the  fall, 
he  drags  himself  to  a  lonely  hut.  Here  lives 
Granny  Wittichen,  a  notorious  witch,  together 
with  an  elfin  creature,  the  golden-haired  Rauten- 
delein.  With  this  girl,  who  is  conceived  as  a 
personification  of  nature,  Master  Heinrich  falls  in 
love,  and  forsakes  wife  and  children  to  dwell 
with  her  in  the  mountain  wilds.  There  he  sets 


1 88  MODERN   GERMAN   LITERATURE 

up  his  workshop.  Among  the  great,  free  heights, 
with  soul  raised  aloft  by  fresh  incentive,  he  feels 
the  access  of  new  power  to  accomplish  that  which 
was  denied  him  in  the  spiritual  solitude  down  in 
the  valley :  he  will  work  up  into  form  a  wondrous 
chime,  — 

Such  as  no  minster  in  the  world  has  seen. 
Loud  and  majestic  is  its  mighty  voice; 
Even  as  the  thunders  of  a  storm  it  sounds, 
Rolling  and  crashing  o'er  the  meads  in  spring. 
Ay,  in  the  tumult  of  its  trumpet  tones, 
All  the  church  bells  on  earth  it  shall  strike  dumb. 
All  shall  be  hushed,  as  through  the  sky  it  rings 
The  glad  new  Gospel  of  the  new-born  light ! 

On  this  new  gospel  —  a  symbolic  sun  worship 
that  shall  absorb  and  humanize  our  religion  —  he 
addresses  an  ecstatic  harangue  to  the  vicar,  who 
has  come  to  reclaim  Heinrich  for  his  abandoned 
duty. 

Eternal  Sun  !    Thy  children  and  my  children 

Know  thee  for  Father  and  proclaim  thy  power. 

Thou,  aided  by  the  kind  and  gentle  rain, 

Didst  raise  them  from  the  dust  and  give  them  health ! 

So  now  their  joy  triumphant  they  shall  send 

Singing  along  thy  clear,  bright  path  to  Heaven  ! 

And  now,  at  last,  like  the  gray  wilderness 

That  thou  hast  warmed,  and  mantled  with  thy  green, 


HAUPTMANN  189 

Me  thou  hast  kindled  into  sacrifice  ! 

I  offer  thee  myself,  and  all  I  am  !  ... 

O  Day  of  Light  —  when  from  the  marble  halls 

Of  my  fair  Temple  the  first  waking  peal 

Shall  shake  the  skies  —  when,  from  the  somber  clouds 

That  weighed  upon  us  through  the  winter  night, 

Rivers  of  jewels  shall  go  rushing  down 

Into  a  million  hands  outstretched  to  clutch  ! 

Then  all  who  drooped,  with  sudden  power  inflamed, 

Shall  bear  their  treasure  homewards  to  their  huts, 

There  to  unfurl,  at  last,  the  silken  banners, 

Waiting  —  so  long,  so  long  —  to  be  upraised, 

And,  pilgrims  of  the  Sun,  draw  near  the  feast ! 


O  Father,  that  great  Day  !  .  .  .    You  know  the  tale 
Of  the  lost  Prodigal?  ...    It  is  the  Sun 
That  bids  his  poor,  lost  children  to  the  Feast. 
With  rustling  banners,  see  the  swelling  host 
Draw  nearer,  and  still  nearer  to  my  Temple  ! 
And  now  the  wondrous  chime  again  rings  out, 
Filling  the  air  with  such  sweet,  passionate  sound 
As  makes  each  breast  to  sob  with  rapturous  pain. 
It  sings  a  song,  long  lost  and  long  forgotten, 
A  song  of  home  —  a  childlike  song  of  Love, 
Born  in  the  waters  of  some  fairy  well  — 
Known  to  all  mortals,  and  yet  heard  of  none  ! 
And  as  it  rises,  softly  first,  and  low, 
The  nightingale  and  dove  seem  singing,  too, 
And  all  the  ice  in  every  human  breast 


190  MODERN   GERMAN   LITERATURE 

Is  melted,  and  the  hate,  and  pain,  and  woe, 
Stream  out  in  tears. 


Then  shall  we  all  draw  nearer  to  the  Cross, 

And,  still  in  tears,  rejoice,  until  at  last 

The  dead  Redeemer,  by  the  Sun  set  free, 

His  prisoned  limbs  shall  stir  from  their  long  sleep, 

And,  radiant  with  the  joy  of  endless  youth, 

Come  down,  himself  a  youth,  into  the  May. 

But  Heinrich's  fair  dream  is  not  realized,  because 
he  has  not  left  his  human  conscience  behind  him 
in  the  valley.  His  faithlessness  drives  his  loyal 
wife  to  suicide,  —  for  Hauptmann's  characters  the 
natural  escape  from  sorrow;  a  vision  shows  him 
his  little  children  toiling  up  towards  him  with  a 
jug  containing  the  dead  mother's  tears.  Master 
Heinrich's  soul  is  harrowed  by  remorse ;  the  man 
in  him  is  broken,  and  with  that  the  artist  goes  to 
pieces  also.  The  sunken  bell,  touched  by  the  dead 
wife's  ringers,  tolls  a  loud  warning.  Heinrich, 
wholly  beside  himself,  curses  and  spurns  poor 
Rautendelein,  but  soon  discovers  that  he  cannot 
do  without  her.  To  the  life  of  the  valley  he  can- 
not return;  his  forest  temple  goes  up  in  flames. 
And  so,  without  a  home  on  the  shining  heights, 
without  a  home  in  the  netherland,  he  must  die. 


HAUPTMANN  191 

That  "  The  Sunken  Bell  "  is  the  work  of  a 
real,  whole-souled  poet  is  certified  by  every  line. 
A  rare  poetic  temperament  pulsates  through  every 
fiber  of  the  whole  composition.  Poetically  "  The 
Sunken  Bell "  can  hardly  be  praised  too  much. 
Its  situations  and  characters  are  so  entrancing, 
the  language  is  so  beautiful,  that  we  may  draw 
pure  delight  from  each  constituent  part,  even 
though  we  may  not  understand  the  allegory  that 
is  hidden  in  it. 

As  for  the  underlying  tissue  of  personal  experi- 
ence, it  is  but  thinly  veiled.  Yet  a  great  many 
have  enjoyed  "  The  Sunken  Bell  "  without  going 
to  the  trouble  of  tracing  out  the  resemblance  of 
Master  Heinrich  the  bell-founder  to  Master  Ger- 
hart  the  playwright.  Nothing  could  better  argue 
the  intrinsic  poetical  value  of  the  work. 

We  have  so  far  spoken  of  "  The  Sunken  Bell " 
as  a  poem,  as  a  lyric  effusion  cast  in  dialogue,  if 
such  a  description  is  admissible.  Our  praise  can- 
not be  equally  unstinted  when  we  view  "  The 
Sunken  Bell "  as  a  drama  and  a  channel  of  phil- 
osophic thought.  It  is  then  that  we  miss,  back 
of  the  lovely  allegory,  the  clarified  world-view  of 
a  ripened  individuality.  And  such  we  have  been 
taught  by  our  great  dramatists  to  expect. 


192  MODERN   GERMAN   LITERATURE 

The  tragic  fate  of  Master  Heinrich  would  in- 
fallibly have  appealed  to  us  had  the  poet  fully  con- 
vinced us  of  his  hero's  overmanship.  In  that 
case  Master  Heinrich  might  have  been  reckoned 
among  those  brethren-in-fate  of  Faust  whom  we 
hesitate  to  judge  according  to  the  usual  stand- 
ards of  human  conduct.  As  it  is,  he  is  too  small 
of  stature  to  be  compared  with  Faust,  even 
though  he  does  distantly  resemble  him.  Faust 
triumphs  because  he  is  an  overman,  Heinrich 
perishes  because  he  would  like  to  be.  He  is  a 
calamitous  blend  of  the  Titan's  ambition  and  the 
weakling's  lack  of  self-control,  a  hybrid  between 
overman  and  decadent.  His  flight  from  the  nar- 
rower circles  of  life  looks  suspiciously  like  an 
escapade.  No  lofty  fellowship  of  spirit  or  con- 
geniality of  mind,  no  profound  mutual  compre- 
hension joins  Heinrich  and  Rautendelein  by 
main  force;  nothing  but  a  sensual  attraction 
draws  them  together.  And  the  sacred  fires  in 
Heinrich's  new-built  temple  cannot  long  be  kept 
glowing  when  fanned  only  by  such  a  fickle 
breeze  as  his  passion  for  Rautendelein.  If  the 
fate  of  Heinrich,  the  lesser  mystic,  fails  to  wring 
from  us  as  much  sympathy  as  we  feel  for  the 
greater  mystic,  Faust,  it  is  principally  because 


HAUPTMANN  193 

we  ourselves  are  more  nearly  concerned  in  the 
fate  of  Faust.  The  great  problems  of  life  which 
he  finally  solves  in  spite  of  all  hindrances  are  of 
universal  human  relevancy.  The  whole  aim  and 
endeavor  of  Hauptmann's  hero,  on  the  other 
hand,  is  centered  exclusively  on  artistic  ideals,  to 
realize  which  he  deserts  his  nearest  obligations. 
In  spite  of  all  its  beauties  "  The  Sunken  Bell," 
after  all,  does  not  appeal  irresistibly  to  all  our 
human  nature  at  once,  because  it  deals  with  human 
nature  under  exceptional  aspects. 

The  enthusiastic  acceptance  of  "  The  Sunken 
Bell "  served  as  an  unmistakable  sign  of  the 
trend  of  the  literary  taste.  For  the  poet  himself 
as  well  as  for  the  public  it  testified  to  the  truth 
of  the  blunt  saying  in  Paul  Heyse's  anti-natural- 
istic novel  Merlin :  "  Though  with  the  pitchfork 
of  naturalism  we  may  drive  out  never  so  vigor- 
ously that  longing  for  the  great  and  beautiful 
which  is  called  idealism,  it  forever  returns." 

In  determining  Hauptmann's  position  in  mod- 
ern letters,  this  poetic  achievement  has  ad- 
vanced essentially  its  author's  reputation  and 
won  for  him  many  who  formerly  were  averse  or 
skeptical.  By  no  means,  however,  does  it  raise 
him  to  the  rank  of  the  facile  princeps  among 


194  MODERN  GERMAN   LITERATURE 

living  poets ;  for  it  is  a  distinguishing  character- 
istic of  the  German  mind  that  the  mere  sensuous 
beauty  of  an  art  work  does  not  wholly  satisfy  it. 
The  Germans  want  to  look  up  to  their  great 
poets  not  only  as  to  magicians  who  produce  a 
transient  semblance  of  the  beautiful,  but  also  as 
to  teachers  of  wisdom  and  guides  through  the 
wildernesses  and  labyrinths  of  life.  All  present 
symptoms  point  strongly  to  the  fact  that  they 
demand  that  their  dramatists  draw  characters 
who,  on  the  one  hand,  shall  be  perfectly  true  to 
life,  but  who  also,  in  addition  to  their  transient 
individual  significance,  shall  have  a  universal, 
profound,  close  human  relationship  with  us  and 
thereby  move  us  to  such  a  personal  participation 
in  their  fate  as  no  mere  stranger  ever  can  compel 
on  his  own  account.  So  far  as  we  have  made  their 
acquaintance,  Hauptmann's  heroes  are  either  — 
as  Master  Heinrich  —  symbols  in  human  shape, 
in  which  case  they  lack  the  requisite  red-blooded 
personality,  or  they  are  the  superficial  likenesses 
of  men  who  are  caught  with  astounding  accuracy 
in  their  characteristics  of  attitude  and  speech,  yet 
are  without  a  lasting  interest  because  the  inner- 
most secret  of  their  identity  with  ourselves  is  not 
revealed. 


HAUPTMANN  195 

After  "  The  Sunken  Bell "  it  seems  as  if  our 
poet  were  conscious  of  the  inadequacy  of  past 
efforts,  and  had  at  last  found  the  road  to  a  genu- 
ine realistic  character  drama.  Certainly  it  can  be 
only  a  hasty  examination  which  finds  in  Fuhr- 
mann  Henschel  ^  Henschel  the  Teamster")  (1898) 
nothing  but  a  relapse  of  the  successful  Mdrchen- 
dichter  into  reluctant  fidelity  to  his  old  love, 
Naturalism.  In  Florian  Geyer  Hauptmann  had 
essayed  the  application  of  naturalism  to  historic 
drama.  In  Fuhrmann  Henschel  another  experi- 
ment is  made,  in  which  the  naturalistic  impres- 
sionism is  employed  as  an  aid  to  the  true  func- 
tion of  the  drama  now  apparently  conceived  as 
the  revealment  of  the  psychology  not  of  a  social 
throng,  as  in  Die  Weber  and  in  Geyer,  but  of  an 
individual.  The  transition  from  a  physiologic  to 
a  psychologic  type  of  impressionism  is  thus  dis- 
tinctly marked ;  a  progress  which,  as  has  been  well 
pointed  out  by  the  historian  Karl  Lamprecht, 
is  in  line  with  the  general  trend  of  modern  lit- 
erary development.  Already  from  the  middle  of 
the  nineties  Hauptmann's  plays  had  ceased  to 
be  regarded  by  ultra-naturalists  like  Holz  as  pat- 
terns and  paradigms  of  their  theory.  Perhaps  now, 
in  the  retrospection,  we  can  better  understand 


196  MODERN   GERMAN   LITERATURE 

the  apparently  saltatory  progress  of  Hauptmann. 
That  he  had  outgrown  the  obstructive  ordinances 
of  naturalism  there  can  be  no  question.  Yet  he 
did  not  turn  utter  renegade,  because  he  recognized 
the  permanent  gain  accruing  to  the  drama  from  the 
late  reform ;  rather  he  sought  to  find  a  means  by 
which,  without  sacrificing  this  gain,  he  might 
attain  a  less  one-sided  manifestation  of  his  powers. 
In  Hannele,  as  we  have  seen,  the  theme  was  chosen 
with  singular  felicity  so  as  to  permit  the  unmixed 
coexistence  of  the  seamy  and  the  dreamy  worlds. 
In  "  The  Sunken  Bell "  naturalism  was  pushed  to 
the  wall  by  the  long-repressed  furor  poeticus.  But 
Hauptmann  is  naturally  unwilling  to  relinquish  a 
method  which  furnishes  the  sole  opportunity  for 
one  of  the  most  potent  elements  in  his  genius, 
namely,  his  unexcelled  power  of  observation  and 
reproduction.  The  new  peasant  drama  combines 
the  physiological  and  the  psychological  methods. 
It  retains  all  the  external  verisimilitude  of  "The 
Weavers,"  yet  the  interest  is  never,  as  there, 
focused  on  the  environment,  but  on  the  Auswick- 
lung,  the  unfolding  of  the  central  character. 

Fuhrmann  Henschel  is  a  Silesian  dialect  drama, 
like  Die  Weber.  The  situations  are  very  much 
like  those  in  Bahnwarter  Thiel.  Henschel,  a 


HAUPTMANN  197 

rough,  stupid,  but  well-meaning  and  deeply  con- 
scientious fellow,  has  solemnly  promised  his  dying 
wife  (in  act  i)  that  he  will  not  marry  Hanne 
Schal,  the  house  servant,  of  whom  she  is  jealous. 
Having  for  domestic  reasons  broken  his  promise 
to  the  dead,  the  superstition  preys  on  his  mind 
that  he  is  gradually  being  forfeited  to  her  revenge. 
Meanwhile  the  wily,  sensuous  Hanne  develops 
into  a  reckless  village  Messalina.  With  hardened 
villainy  she  practices  one  deception  after  another 
upon  her  hulking,  good-natured  husband,  robbing 
him  of  his  domestic  happiness,  his  child,  his  honor, 
his  prestige,  his  substance,  and  thus  finally  of  rea- 
son and  of  life  itself.  The  end  (which  is  suicide) 
is  thus  brought  on  without  the  cooperation  of 
the  tragic  guilt  of  the  hero,  formerly  held  to  be 
one  of  the  essentials  of  tragedy.  In  the  story  of 
Fuhrmann  Henschel  the  realistic  method  is  not 
employed  with  the  unscrupulous  thoroughness  of 
former  plays,  so  that,  among  other  things,  all 
ribaldry  and  nastiness  are  dispensed  with ;  a  single 
obscenity  occurs.  It  is  true  that,  for  the  purpose 
of  making  up  a  definite  milieu,  various  supernu- 
merary characters  like  Siebenhaar  and  Franziska 
Wermelskirch  wander  detachedly  about  in  this 
play  as  in  the  earlier  ones,  but  the  figure  of 


198  MODERN  GERMAN   LITERATURE 

Wilhelm  Henschel  is  skillfully  moved  into  the 
foreground  and  kept  there  throughout  the  five 
acts.  Nevertheless,  it  must  be  acknowledged  that 
Hauptmann  has  not  fully  risen  above  his  limi- 
tations; for  even  Henschel's  tragic  fate  seems 
painted  al  fresco  and  much  of  the  psychological 
motiving  is  left  to  the  onlooker.  Besides,  the 
plot  is  not  fairly  rounded  out,  since  in  the  last  act, 
when  the  will  power  of  the  hero  is  finally  broken, 
the  whole  structure  of  the  plot,  unfinished  as  it 
is,  collapses  too,  as  though  we  had  no  interest  in 
any  one  but  Henschel.  So  much,  however,  we 
may  regard  as  certain,  without  claiming  an  author- 
itative opinion,  that  this  work  of  Hauptmann  by 
the  relative  flawlessness  of  form  and  content  marks 
a  long  stride  forward  in  his  artistic  progress.  At 
any  rate,  "  Henschel  the  Teamster  "  must  unques- 
tionably be  reckoned  one  of  the  greatest  peasant 
tragedies  ever  written. 

So  numerous  were  the  dramatizations  of  peasant 
life  after  Fuhrmann  Henschel  that  it  looked  for  a 
while  as  though  the  muse  of  the  German  drama 
were  preparing  to  take  up  its  permanent  residence 
in  the  country.  But  she  only  wanted  to  recuper- 
ate from  the  strenuous  exploitation  of  the  metrop- 
olis ;  she  was  beginning  to  tire  of  the  fad  for  the 


HAUPTMANN  199 

tragedy  of  artist  life  which  was  gradually  becoming 
a  somewhat  monotonous  form  of  literary  endeavor; 
and  she  sought  invigoration  from  the  fostering 
soil.  The  Heimatkunst — vernacular  art  —  thus 
came  to  be  highly  prized,  and  its  popularity  was 
soon  in  its  turn  encompassed  by  the  peril  of  fad- 
dish over-specialization.  Fortunately,  however, 
literary  specialization  means  the  accretion  of  many 
facts  hitherto  unavailable  for  a  writer  and  thereby 
eventually  a  visible  widening  of  his  horizon. 

The  real  poet  once  he  is  recognized  should  feel 
himself  raised  above  the  temptation  of  following  a 
fashionable  specialty,  be  it  for  the  sake  of  bread, 
be  it  for  the  still  more  meretricious  reason  of  popu- 
larity. Hauptmann's  later  works,  too,  bear  witness 
to  his  greater  independence,  to  his  plucky  deter- 
mination to  advance  to  his  goals  along  self-chosen 
paths.  And  yet  in  spite  of  his  increasing  freedom 
from  technical  bigotry,  one  cannot  always  help 
feeling  that  up  to  this  time  the  picture  of  the 
dying  swan  on  the  title-page  of  "The  Sunken  Bell" 
carries  an  ominous  significance  hardly  intended 
by  the  poet. 

Certainly  the  tramp-comedy  Schluck  und  Jau 
(1900)  does  not  lay  claim  to  any  special  weight 
or  relative  value  among  the  works  of  Hauptmann. 


200  MODERN  GERMAN   LITERATURE 

If  his  first  sustained  effort,  the  rhapsodic  Prome- 
thidenlos,  savored  strongly  of  Byron,  Schluck  und 
Jau  is  frankly  reminiscent  of  the  Induction  to 
Shakespeare's  The  Taming  of  the  Shrew.  But 
whereas  there  the  sport  with  Christopher  Sly  ends 
at  the  opening  of  the  real  play,  in  Hauptmann's 
Spiel  zu  Scherz  und  Schimpf  ("  Play  in  Joke  and 
Jollity")  the  incident  throughout  clusters  round 
two  drunken  vagabonds  whom  the  Prince's  jovial 
friend  in  a  waggish  mood  has  carried  into  the 
hunting  lodge. 

It  is  natural  to  think  that  Hauptmann  purposed 
to  take  up  the  psychologic  experiment  just  where 
Shakespeare  left  off,  that  he  imagined  the  inward 
experience  of  a  pauper  who,  awaking  from  a 
drunken  stupor,  finds  himself  through  some  mira- 
cle in  the  possession  of  princely  wealth,  rank,  and 
power.  However,  his  play  moves  less  by  psycho- 
logic forces  than  by  the  comicality  of  the  ensuing 
deception  of  Jau,  to  which  his  comrade  Schluck 
is  forced  to  contribute  by  masquerading  as  his 
princely  spouse.  Jau  readily  accepts  the  expla- 
nation that  his  former  squalid  estate  was  only  a 
temporary  delusion  from  which  he  has  just  recov- 
ered, but  amid  his  new  magnificence  remaining  un- 
changed, a  vulgar,  crapulous  glutton,  he  furnishes 


HAUPTMANN  2OI 

so  much  fun  for  his  fancied  "  subjects "  that 
the  psychologic  experiment  is  soon  smothered 
in  roaring  comedy.  Before  long  a  pugnacious 
form  of  megalomania  makes  Jau  unendurable  and 
hastens  the  end  of  his  glory.  A  sleeping-draught 
is  administered  and  Jau  removed  to  the  lawn  in 
front  of  the  chateau  where  he  was  first  picked  up. 
His  colleague  Schluck  has  preceded  him.  In  con- 
clusion we  are  acquainted  with  the  moral  lesson 
of  the  play,  which  consists  in  a  sententious  truism 
about  the  inconstancy  of  fortune. 

"  The  descendants  of  Alexander  of  Macedon  be- 
came joiners  and  clerks  in  Rome.  This  bundle  of 
patched  homespun  —  but  yesterday  it  paraded  as 
a  prince ! "  The  prince  and  the  pauper  are  equally 
strangers  to  the  pomp  and  splendor  through  which 
they  are  ushered  with  different  degrees  of  speed. 
The  real  value  of  a  man  is  little  more  than  that  of 
Jau  in  his  natural  state.  With  such  philosophy 
we  are  dismissed.  It  is  not  deep  nor  new,  but  the 
poet  himself  has  warned  us  in  the  prologue  not 
to  take  him  too  seriously : 

Und  nehmt  dies  derbe  Stiicklein  nicht  fur  mehr, 
Als  einer  unbesorgten  Laune  Kind. 

And  we  may  account  for  the  "  crude  little 
piece "  by  Richard  M.  Meyer's  conjecture  that 


202  MODERN  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

Hauptmann  belongs  to  those  poets  with  whom 
recreation  itself  is  turned  into  poetical  product. 

In  Schluck  und  Jau  Hauptmann  approaches 
real  comedy  more  than  in  any  other  work. 
The  play  is  indeed  documentary  evidence  of  a 
"  happy,  careless  mood."  Such  moods,  with 
Hauptmann,  are  excessively  rare.  But  genuine 
humor  we  miss  even  in  Schluck  und  Jau.  For 
genuine  humor  is  the  medium  of  an  optimistic 
view  of  life,  a  medium  by  which  all  things  are 
gilded  or  sublimated.  To  this  poet  whom  the 
gods  have  otherwise  endowed  so  richly,  that  one 
divine  gift  seems  to  have  been  denied,  because 
he  is  at  bottom  a  pessimist  through  whose  mind 
the  world  is  refracted  as  a  confused  and  wran- 
gling mass.  All  his  works  —  the  comedies  not 
excepted  —  betray  this  pessimistic  world-view 
which  in  the  last  analysis  appears  to  be  con- 
comitant with  the  lack  of  a  higher  intellectual 
potency. 

If  it  is  a  fact  that  Michael  Kramer  (1900)  was 
written  to  give  the  lie  to  critics  like  Richard 
M.  Meyer,  who  had  said  of  Hauptmann  that  he 
lacked  "the  higher  intellect,  the  mastery  in  the 
realm  of  ideas,  the  power  to  deal  with  the  ab- 
stract, the  quick  flash  that  lights  up  the  mystery 


HAUPTMANN  203 

of  things,"  he  has  only  furnished  his  critics  with 
an  additional  proof  of  their  allegation. 

In  Michael  Kramer  (1900)  the  poet  under- 
took a  bold  and  thoroughly  original  task.  In 
this  play  what  is  customarily  regarded  as  the 
"  action  "  is  not  worked  out  through  the  agency, 
nor  even  with  the  cooperation,  of  the  real  hero,  — 
Michael  Kramer  is  in  no  way  the  author  of  his 
son's  tragic  fate;  such  at  least  was  the  impres- 
sion produced  by  the  masterly  premiere  in  Berlin. 
In  fact  the  "action"  is  of  a  very  indirect  and 
subordinate  importance;  it  serves  merely  as  a 
psycho-dynamic  means  for  drawing  to  the  surface 
the  inmost  soul-life  of  the  principal  character, 
for  carding  out,  as  it  were,  his  very  heart  and 
entrails.  So  far  this  is  the  most  ambitious  and 
possibly  the  most  successful  psychological  study 
undertaken  by  Hauptmann. 

Michael  Kramer  is  the  artist  who  just  falls 
short  of  greatness,  —  a  type  nearly  related  to 
Master  Heinrich  and,  less  intimately,  to  Col- 
league Crampton,  —  a  painter  who  has  never 
won  the  prize  of  public  favor  because,  on  the  one 
side,  his  high  principles  forbid  him  to  prostitute 
his  art,  to  debase  it  to  unworthy  purposes,  and 
because,  on  the  other  side,  his  hand  is  no  mate 


204  MODERN  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

for  his  inspiration,  his  brush  no  tool  adequate  to 
his  artistic  purpose,  so  that  Kramer's  best  powers 
are  hopelessly  lost  on  that  perplexing  road  that 
leads  from  the  first  conception  to  the  finished 
work,  and  his  best  ideas  never  materialize  on 
the  canvas.  As  Heinrich  is  the  man  of  the  bell 
that  is  never  to  be  cast,  so  is  Kramer  the  man 
of  the  picture  forever  unpainted;  but  here  the 
limit  to  a  further  comparison  between  the  two 
seems  to  be  set,  for  Kramer's  manfully  conscious 
persistence,  even  though  it  does  not  triumph,  is  a 
far  more  creditable  form  of  endeavor  than  Hein- 
rich's  hysterical  chase  after  phantoms. 

Kramer  is  concisely  described  by  his  daugh- 
ter Michalina :  "  Father  is  terribly  honest."  As 
Kramer  belongs  to  the  painters  who  heed  not 
Goethe's  caution,  "Bilde  Kunstler,  rede  nicht!" 
—  and  has  a  pedagogue's  habit  of  dwelling  on  his 
convictions,  we  learn  from  his  own  lips  that  unlike 
the  moonstruck  bell-founder  he  puts  the  main 
stress  on  duty:  " der  Mann  mufi  Pflichten  erken- 
nen,  kor'n  6>."  He  invests  this  maxima  regula  of 
his  conduct  with  the  emphasis  of  frequent  reit- 
eration. So  he  says  to  his  disciple  Lachmann: 
"  Always  work,  work,  Lachmann.  We  Ve  got  to 
work,  you  know,  Lachmann.  Else  we  molder 


HAUPTMANN  205 

alive.  Just  look  at  such  a  life,  how  such  a  man 
works,  such  a  Bocklin.  That  leads  to  something, 
there  's  something  to  show  for  that.  Not  only 
what  he  paints;  the  whole  fellow.  Work,  you 
know,  is  life,  Lachmann." 

Michael  Kramer  has  been  called  sib  to  Master 
Heinrich  and  Colleague  Crampton,  but  that  the 
kinship  is  not  very  close  has  also  been  stated. 
True,  he  belongs  to  a  type  that  has  necessarily 
the  greatest  fascination  for  a  man  like  Haupt- 
mann,  who  is  in  love  with  his  art,  —  desperately  in 
love,  as  we  sometimes  say,  or  better,  as  we  should 
always  say,  sacredly  in  love  with  it.  He  typifies 
the  incompleted,  fractional,  or  merely  potential 
artist  —  der  unganze  Kunstler,  I  should  say  in 
German.  But  this  man's  failure  has  lost  its  sting. 
A  life  long  he  has  striven  without  winning  the 
prize,  yet  his  loyalty  has  been  rewarded.  That 
divine  spark  which  alone  can  engender  the  truly 
great  in  art  is  missing  from  his  breast ;  but  for 
the  lack  he  is  compensated  by  the  stirrings  of  a 
serious  and  sober  idealism.  He  is  an  unswerv- 
ing advocate  of  the  Joy  of  Working,  and  that 
makes  him  a  great  teacher.  Whoever  comes  to 
him  as  a  willing  pupil  is  mysteriously  trans- 
formed. "  As  a  beggarly  little  fellow  he  arrives," 


206  MODERN  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

says  Lachmann,  "  and  then  suddenly  receives  the 
accolade." 

It  is  clear  that  the  tragic  pathos  in  Kramer's 
fate  cannot  be  grounded  in  his  misfortune  that 
as  an  artist  he  does  not  come  up  to  his  ideals. 
We  have  to  look  for  it  somewhere  else.  That 
summum  bonum  of  the  artist  —  natural  genius  — 
which  the  parent  lacks,  was  given  to  the  lucky 
child.  If  the  son  became  the  fulfillment  of  the 
father,  then  all  was  well.  "  Not  I,  —  thought  I  to 
myself,  —  but  you,  you  perhaps."  Or,  quite  at  the 
end,  "  I  was  the  husk ;  there  lies  the  kernel."  And 
now  having  to  see  how  the  lazy  rascal  seals  his 
conscience  hermetically  against  father,  mother, 
sister,  and  against  every  protest  of  his  own  artist 
nature,  miserably  frittering  away  his  genius  as  a 
common  pothouse  loafer,  is  not  the  cruel  shame 
of  it  enough  to  eat  away  the  father's  heart  ?  That, 
then,  is  his  tragedy.  Not  enough  that  fate  has 
twice  forced  Michael  Kramer  to  lay  his  artist's 
ambition  in  the  grave;  he  must  also  say  of  the 
human  being  which  is  the  dearest  to  him  in  the 
world,  the  dearest  because  Michael  bows  before 
his  son's  full-orbed  genius  as  though  it  were  the 
noblest  part  of  his  own  self :  "  There  is  n't  a  good 
fiber  in  him.  The  boy  is  worm-eaten  at  the  core. 


HAUPTMANN  207 

A  bad  fellow.  A  low  fellow."  The  history  of  art 
teaches  that  by  some  odd  perversity  genius  some- 
times travels  in  the  same  yoke  with  moral  turpi- 
tude. Benvenuto  Cellini  was  as  eminent  a  black- 
guard and  desperado  as  he  was  a  carver  and 
chaser ;  Master  Veit  Stoss  was  a  notorious  forger, 
branded  as  such  by  the  public  executioner.  Yet 
though  the  secrets  of  the  "split  personality"  of 
those  men  are  not  of  necessary  concern  for  us, 
we  do  expect  some  explanation  for  the  natural 
wickedness  of  a  leading  character  in  a  modern 
play  of  the  realistic-psychological  sort.  Knowing 
that  the  author  is  fully  informed  regarding  the  pro- 
venience of  his  people  and  the  aetiology  of  their 
physical  and  mental  conditions,  we  confidently 
turn  to  him  for  enlightenment;  but  before  the 
enigma  of  Arnold  Kramer's  character  the  most 
discerning  reader  stands  in  utter  perplexity. 

Morally  he  resembles  in  no  respect  either  of  his 
parents.  His  physical  ugliness  —  he  has  inherited 
from  his  father  a  lean,  lanky  frame,  lopsided  shoul- 
ders, and  a  slightly  humped  back  —  might,  at  a 
pinch,  account  for  Arnold's  crabbedness ;  it  offers 
no  fit  explanation  for  his  boundless  depravity. 
Possibly  Hauptmann  felt  that  under  the  circum- 
stances he  owed  it  to  his  hearers  to  describe  this 


208  MODERN   GERMAN   LITERATURE 

freak  of  nature  all  the  more  minutely;  he  has 
decidedly  overdone  the  thing,  and  yet  it  cannot 
be  said  that  we  learn  more  and  more  of  young 
Kramer's  character  as  the  play  progresses.  In  the 
first  act,  in  his  behavior  towards  his  mother,  he 
shows  himself  a  brazen-faced,  cowardly  liar.  The 
second  act  unrolls  the  character  portrait  of  the 
father ;  no  new  light  is  shed  on  the  extant  picture 
of  the  son.  And  his  physiognomy  is  so  fixed  that 
the  third  act,  too,  does  not  in  any  essential  way 
alter  its  aspect.  Nay,  even  when  in  the  last  act 
we  see  him  safely  coffined  and  hear  the  touching 
obituary  delivered  by  the  agonized  father,  we 
are  in  danger  of  forgetting  the  de  mortuis  nil 
nisi  bonum.  For  Arnold  Kramer  is  to  the  bitter 
end  an  incorrigible  profligate ;  and  the  most  that 
could  be  said  in  his  favor  would  be  in  the  nature 
of  the  cow-boy's  epitaph,  "  He  was  a  mighty  bad 
fellow  in  some  ways,  but  then  —  he  was  worse  in 
others."  In  lieu  of  a  real  dramatic  plot,  a  thin 
thread  of  incident  binds  together  in  the  four 
acts  of  Michael  Kramer  the  final  chapter  in 
the  wasted  life  of  Kramer  junior.  Arnold  is 
enamored  of  a  wayward  damsel,  who  will  none 
of  him.  Exasperated  beyond  endurance  by  a 
lucky  rival,  he  threatens  the  latter's  life.  The 


HAUPTMANN  209 

revolver  is  snatched  from  his  hand;  then  Arnold 
runs  away  and  drowns  himself.  When  all  is  said, 
the  unfortunate  fact  remains  that  young  Kramer 
is  the  weirdly  true  representative  of  a  species  of 
degenerates  who  "  happen  "  in  well-regulated,  nay 
by  some  irony  of  fate  even  in  the  "  best "  families. 
But  I  doubt  sincerely  whether  the  best  possible 
performance  of  this  play  —  and  I  believe  I  have 
seen  just  that  —  helps  us  to  a  deeper  understand- 
ing of  the  type. 

Architecturally  Michael  Kramer  relapses  from 
the  greater  structural  consistency  of  Fuhrmann 
HenscheL  The  action  is  pushed  forward  jerkily 
over  the  insipid  first  act  to  the  most  telling  part  of 
the  play;  then  after  the  appalling  interview  be- 
tween father  and  son  in  which  the  second  act  ends, 
it  sinks  to  the  level  of  hopeless  banality  in  the 
third  act.  With  Arnold  out  of  the  way,  a  higher 
plane  is  reached  in  the  fourth  act,  which  is  cast  in 
a  sort  of  disguised  soliloquy.  Lachmann  is  pres- 
ent on  the  scene,  but  plays  no  more  active  part 
than  the  interlocutor  in  a  minstrel  troupe.  The 
thoughts  uttered  by  Michael  have  a  powerful, 
human  charm,  without,  however,  being  either  very 
new  or  remarkably  profound.  Wealth  of  ideas  is 
certainly  not  a  strong  point  of  Hauptmann's  art. 


210  MODERN  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

From  this  opinion  we  are  not  converted  by  the 
"  thieves-comedy  "  Der  Biberpelz  ("  The  Beaver 
Coat")  (1893)  and  its  sequel  or,  better,  companion 
piece,  Der  rote  Hahn  ("  The  Red  Cock")  (1901), 
both  strict  milieu  plays  and,  therefore,  somewhat 
in  the  same  relation  to  Schluck  und  Jau  as,  say 
Die  Weber  to  Hannele.  Remarkable  in  both,  par- 
ticularly in  "  The  Beaver  Coat,"  is  the  sure  seizure 
of  the  externals.  The  atmosphere  of  a  particular 
locality,  situated  this  time  not  in  the  author's  home 
district  but  "  somewhere  in  the  vicinity  of  Berlin," 
is  reproduced  with  a  startling  fidelity.  Given 
such  a  performance  as  that  in  the  Deutsches 
Theater  at  Berlin,  where  the  intentions  of  the 
author  are  carried  out  under  his  personal  super- 
vision and  with  careful  attention  to  the  smallest 
detail,  the  illusion  is  well-nigh  complete.  Der 
Biberpelz  has  been  compared  by  nearly  all  the 
critics  to  Heinrich  von  Kleist's  Der  zerbrochene 
Krug,  one  of  the  few  great  comedies  of  which  the 
Germans  may  boast.  I  confess  that  beyond  the 
fact  that  in  both  plays  the  plot  is  enacted  in  a 
court  room,  I  can  see  no  good  reason  for  drawing 
an  analogy.  The  character  of  the  judge  in  both 
cases  deviates  widely  from  the  accepted  pattern, 
but  Kleist's  Judge  Adam  is  an  old  rake  and 


HAUPTMANN  2 1 1 

arrant  knave,  a  veritable  stage  villain,  whereas 
Amtsvorsteher  von  Wehrhahn  measures  up  to  a 
fair  enough  moral  standard.  Moreover,  in  the 
older  comedy  the  judge  is  the  central  figure,  which 
is  not  the  case  in  the  newer.  That  distinction 
belongs  to  the  washerwoman  Wolff,  a  most  inter- 
esting, double-dyed  malefactress  who  commits  her 
villainies  under  the  very  nose  of  the  incredibly 
stupid  magistrate  and  even  gathers  in  official  com- 
mendation from  that  innocent.  Wehrhahn,  though 
he  occupies  the  second  place,  is  drawn  with  infi- 
nite care,  and  while  the  remaining  ten  persons  are 
only  subsidiary,  tireless  and  most  successful  labor 
has  been  spent  on  their  characterization  also ;  they 
all  seem  drawn  direct  from  living  models. 

The  action  this  time  is  rather  more  involute 
than  we  are  accustomed  to  find  it  in  Hauptmann's 
work,  because  the  plot  consists  in  a  game  of  hide 
and  seek.  Still,  of  a  story  there  is  not  much  to 
tell.  In  the  year  1887,  during  the  Septennats- 
kampf  which  turned  on  the  peace  strength  of  the 
army,  the  new  Amtsvorsteher,  or  district  judge, 
devotes  the  greater  part  of  his  energies  to  ferreting 
out  and  harassing  those  "  internal  enemies  "  who 
foment  the  war  against  the  conserving  forces  of 
the  fatherland.  He  cultivates  a  keen  scent  for 


212  MODERN  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

political  offenders,  to  the  great  detriment  of  his 
efficiency  as  a  magistrate.  At  this  time  a  number 
of  crimes  against  property  are  committed  in  the 
town.  Frau  Wolff,  the  chief  culprit,  in  league 
with  poachers  and  "fences,"  conducts  a  thriving 
business  in  contraband.  One  evening  in  company 
with  her  husband  she  steals  a  cord  of  firewood 
from  the  premises  of  a  well-to-do  citizen  by  the 
name  of  Kriiger.  On  the  following  day  the  victim 
reports  the  theft,  but  Baron  Wehrhahn  does  not 
show  very  deep  interest  in  the  affair,  for  just  then 
he  is  on  the  trail  of  a  case  of  leze  majesty  which 
absorbs  him  much  more  than  the  affair  in  hand. 
Kriiger  is  not  in  his  good  books,  anyway,  as  he 
has  the  reputation  of  being  a  socialist.  At  the 
present  time  he  is  in  particularly  bad  odor  on 
account  of  a  suspicious  inmate  of  his  house,  a 
Dr.  Fleischer,  who  by  the  way  is  an  absolutely 
harmless  scholar  seeking  rest  and  health  in  the 
suburban  quiet.  The  irascible  old  Kriiger,  whose 
temper  explodes  under  the  overbearance  and  pry- 
ing inquisitiveness  of  the  magistrate,  flares  up 
and  roars  out  his  anger  at  Baron  Wehrhahn,  the 
Baron  roars  in  return,  and  the  thieves  go  scot  free. 
Later,  Frau  Wolff  executes  an  order  of  her  patron 
Wulkow  for  Kriiger's  fur  overcoat  and  pockets 


HAUPTMANN  2 1 3 

the  handsome  fee  of  fifty-nine  thalers  for  the 
job.  The  third  act  in  no  way  advances  the  action, 
but  is  devoted  almost  wholly  to  character  treat- 
ment. The  character  of  Frau  Wolff  is  lighted  up 
by  a  number  of  sympathetic  touches,  notably  her 
love  of  children  and  motherliness  towards  the 
benevolent  Dr.  Fleischer.  But  her  vicious  traits 
also  come  out  more  strongly  than  ever  before,  — 
above  all,  her  perfect  art  of  dissimulation.  Nothing 
could  appear  more  sincere  than  her  indignation  at 
the  light-fingered  gentry,  who  should  be  cast  out 
neck  and  crop,  she  says,  else  "  they  '11  steal  the 
very  roof  from  over  one's  head."  The  humor,  we 
see,  is  all  in  the  situation,  not  in  the  characters 
that  are  set  off  by  it.  A  character  like  that  of  the 
Wolff  woman  is  too  repugnant  to  elicit  laughter 
by  itself.  There  is  an  analogy  between  the  fourth 
and  the  second  acts  strong  enough  to  make  the 
play  a  little  tedious  towards  the  end  in  any  render- 
ing that  is  below  the  highest  standard.  In  the 
fourth  act  the  sagacious  Wehrhahn  presides  in 
his  office  to  receive  information  about  the  stolen 
fur,  but  again  his  thoughts  are  preoccupied  with 
his  imagined  "  sacred  duty  "  to  persecute  with  fire 
and  sword  the  enemies  of  state  and  society.  Adolf 
Bartels,  the  author  of  a  book  on  Hauptmann,  is 


214  MODERN   GERMAN   LITERATURE 

right  in  finding  fault  with  Wehrhahn's  incompre- 
hensible stupidity.  For  one  reason  or  another  all 
parties  needed  for  a  full  investigation  are  on  the 
spot,  —  the  plaintiff,  the  thief,  the  receiver  of  the 
stolen  object,  and  an  unimpeachable  witness  who 
has  a  clew  to  the  whereabouts  of  the  corpus  delicti. 
The  truth  lies  so  close  that  this  Prussian  Solomon 
could  not  help  rubbing  his  nose  against  it  if  he 
did  not  prefer  to  turn  that  useful  organ  aside  and 
poke  it  into  things  that  concern  him  not  The 
officialdom  of  modern  Prussia  is  not  free  from  its 
measure  of  human  frailty;  its  most  obvious  fault 
is  the  Strebertum,  that  repulsive  habit  of  keeping 
the  eye  peeled  for  the  higher  opportunity.  This 
official  toadyism  Hauptmann  undoubtedly  meant 
to  satirize  in  the  figure  of  Wehrhahn,  but  he  did 
so  at  too  great  a  sacrifice  of  truth.  Wehrhahn  is 
not  a  sample  of  the  Prussian  police  or  judiciary, 
but  its  caricature.  Anybody  who  has  the  slightest 
acquaintance  with  this  highly  efficient  branch  of 
the  Prussian  government  will  subscribe  to  Bartels' 
assertion  that  in  a  suburb  of  Berlin  a  blockhead 
like  Wehrhahn  could  not  hold  his  position  for 
a  single  month;  yet  we  find  that  gentleman  in 
the  undisturbed  enjoyment  of  his  emoluments  a 
dozen  years  later. 


HAUPTMANN  215 

Der  rote  Hahn  ("The  Red  Cock")1  (1901)  is 
labeled  a  "  tragi-comedy  in  four  acts."  The 
German  repertory  was  practically  without  any 
specimens  of  this  class  of  play  when  Friedrich 
Hebbel  wrote  "A  Tragedy  in  Sicily"  (1845).  ^n 
Hebbel's  rather  insignificant  play  the  tragi-comic 
element  hinges  on  the  notion  of  the  guardians 
of  law  and  order  themselves  turning  criminals 
and  then  conspiring  to  make  an  innocent  man 
surfer  the  penalty  for  the  foul  murder  which  they 
have  committed.  Hauptmann,  we  have  seen,  was 
several  times  attracted  by  tragi-comic  motives: 
"In  Schluck  und  Jau  the  victim  is  first  roughly 
handled  by  fate  and  then  mocked  into  the  bar- 
gain. In  Colleague  Crampton,  who  first  incurs 
and  next  by  a  stroke  of  luck  escapes  the  conse- 
quences of  his  folly,  we  have  likewise  a  tragi- 
comic hero.  In  Der  Biberpelz  a  tragi-comic  spec- 
tacle was  furnished  by  the  systematic  defeat  of 
justice  through  its  appointed  preservers.  Of  this 
genus  Der  rote  Hahn  is  another  specimen.  It 
furnishes  a  continuation  to  Der  Biberpelz,  or  rather 
another  series  of  scenes  culled  from  the  same 
precincts. 

1  In  German,  "jemandem  den  roten  Hahn  aufs  Dach  setzen  "  means 
"  to  set  a  person's  house  on  fire."  The  play  in  English  might  be  named 
"  The  Fire  Bugs." 


216  MODERN  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

Hauptmann  in  his  infatuation  with  the  princi- 
pal characters  of  Der  Biberpelz  may  have  felt 
that  he  had  not  yet  done  them  full  justice  or 
made  the  most  of  them.  So  he  put  them  once 
more  into  dramatic  commission.  True  children 
of  Hauptmann  that  they  are,  time  has  wrought 
no  perceptible  change  in  them.  Von  Wehrhahn 
is  still  Amtsvorsteher,  although  his  breast  is  now 
adorned  with  a  badge  of  distinction;  he  is  the 
same  sturdy  patriot  as  of  old,  still  heart  and 
soul  in  high  politics,  and  as  hot  as  ever  after  the 
social-democratic  vermin.  The  admirable  "  Mutter 
Wolffen,"  too,  is  still  at  her  post,  alert  and  active 
in  spite  of  her  sixty  years.  Having  buried  her 
first  husband,  she  has  joined  her  fortunes  to  those 
of  one  Fielitz,  who  follows  the  double  calling  of  a 
shoemaker  and  a  police  spy.  His  latter  employ- 
ment accounts  for  the  entente  cordiale  which  Wehr- 
hahn keeps  up  with  the  noble  couple.  The  theme 
and  the  groundwork  of  the  tragi-comedy  are  the 
same  as  in  its  preceding  companion  piece.  Again 
justice  miscarries  through  the  bungling  political 
zeal  of  the  incompetent  Wehrhahn  and  the  arch- 
knavery  of  Madame  Wolff-Fielitz.  While  the 
magisterial  eye  is  riveted  on  die  tidchsten  Jiiter 
der  Nation,  its  falcon  glances  are  withdrawn 


HAUPTMANN  2 1 7 

from  the  criminal  doings  in  the  immediate  sur- 
roundings. Several  fires  have  occurred,  and  it  is 
an  open  secret  that  they  have  been  laid  by  the 
owners  for  the  sake  of  the  insurance  money.  On 
the  strength  of  a  remark  dropped  by  her  son-in- 
law  regarding  the  value  of  the  Fielitz  property 
as  a  site  for  a  fine  large  house,  Mother  Fielitz 
has  made  up  her  mind  to  have  a  little  fire  of 
her  own  and  works  on  and  nags  her  faint-hearted 
husband  till  he  consents  to  aid  and  abet  the 
lucrative  scheme.  The  couple  contrive  to  be 
away  from  home  on  the  day  when  the  fire  breaks 
out;  the  property  is  burnt  to  the  ground  (acts 
i  and  ii).  The  third  act  passes  in  the  official  quar- 
ters of  Wehrhahn,  who  is  in  the  act  of  examining 
a  number  of  witnesses  with  reference  to  the  fire. 
As  usual  his  scent  is  sidetracked.  The  Fielitzes 
have  not  the  least  difficulty  in  hoodwinking  him, 
and  make  him  take  up  with  eagerness  the  sug- 
gestion that  the  fire  was  the  revenge  of  some  polit- 
ical suspect  against  whom  Fielitz  had  rendered 
service.  A  stronger  clew,  however,  points  to  an 
imbecile  lad  whose  father,  although  he  happens 
to  be  in  a  position  to  indicate  the  guilty  persons, 
is  prevented  by  Wehrhahn  from  speaking  his 
mind ;  the  proceedings  in  the  court  room  resemble 


218  MODERN   GERMAN   LITERATURE 

strongly  those  in  Der  Biberpelz.  Hauptmann  is 
apparently  as  much  in  love  with  the  anomalous 
situation  as  a  painter  who  repeatedly  treats  the 
same  object  In  the  fourth  act  Mother  Fielitz  has 
attained  her  purpose,  the  new  house  is  under 
roof,  and  after  the  German  custom  the  event 
is  celebrated  with  the  so-called  Richtschmaus. 
Again  the  heroine  is  shown  from  a  better,  human 
side,  as  was  the  case  in  the  third  act  of  Der 
Biberpelz.  By  way  of  a  quasi  rational  sanction 
of  her  conduct  she  is  permitted  to  set  forth  at 
some  length  her  pessimistic  world-view.  Her 
death  from  heart  failure,  however  surprising  it 
must  be  to  her  physician  as  well  as  to  the  audi- 
ence, puts  an  effectual  though  abrupt  stop  to 
the  vivid  scenes  which  of  themselves  tend  to  no 
truly  dramatic  close. 

The  conclusions  drawn  from  the  earlier  works 
of  the  famous  Silesian  that  he  lacks  keen  pene- 
tration and  cannot  contribute  to  the  world's  stock 
of  ideas  are  in  no  wise  shaken  by  his  latest 
productions. 

Der  arme  Heinrich  ("Poor  Heinrich  ")  (1902) 
deals  with  a  German  legend  well  known  to  Eng- 
lish readers  through  "  The  Golden  Legend "  of 
Longfellow. 


HAUPTMANN  219 

This  time  Hauptmann  makes  a  vigorous  at- 
tempt to  expound  in  dramatic  form  the  inner 
development  of  a  human  soul ;  but  he  succeeds 
only  so  far  as  he  follows  the  lines  laid  down 
by  his  celebrated  predecessor,  Hartmann  von 
Aue. 

Hauptmann  has  chosen  as  a  suitable  vehicle  of 
the  romantic  tale  the  iambic  pentameter  and  has 
manifested  in  the  somewhat  conventional  way, 
whereby  the  subject-matter  is  worked  up  in  the 
five  acts,  a  closer  observance  of  the  established 
routine.  At  first  we  find  ourselves  at  the  home 
of  Gottfried,  a  tenant  of  the  noble  Count  Hein- 
rich  von  Aue.  We  make  the  acquaintance  of 
the  worthy  farmer  and  his  goodwife,  and  of  their 
daughter  Ottegebe,  a  girl  just  blooming  into 
womanhood.  Here  Heinrich  has  decided  to  hide 
from  the  world  the  shameful  malady  with  which, 
as  a  punishment  for  too  great  pride,  he  knows 
himself  to  be  stricken.  To  the  most  loyal  among 
his  retainers,  his  kinsman  Sir  Hartmann  von 
Aue,1  Heinrich  reveals  his  affliction  in  a  scene 
of  extraordinary  dramatic  power;  Ottegebe  has 

1  He  is  brought  into  the  play  by  way  of  poetical  tribute  to  the  great 
mediaeval  epicist  of  that  name  who,  in  the  beginning  of  the  thirteenth 
century,  wrote  the  novel  in  rimes  entitled  Der  arme  Heinrich  upon  which 
Hauptmann's  work  is  based. 


220  MODERN  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

overheard  him  and,  rushing  forward  in  an  ecstasy 
in  which  religious  fervor  and  earthly  love  are 
insolubly  welded,  exclaims  as  she  covers  Hein- 
rich's  hands  with  frantic  kisses : 

"  Lord  !  my  dear  Lord  !  think  of  the  Lamb  divine  ! 
I  know  —  I  will  it  —  I  can  bear  the  sins. 
I  Ve  promised  it !    And  thou  shalt  be  redeemed." 

The  "little  wife,"  so  Ottegebe  has  formerly 
been  called  in  jest  by  Heinrich,  has  been  told 
that  there  lives  a  great  surgeon  at  Salerno  who 
can  cure  lepers  with  the  heart's  blood  of  a  pure 
maiden.  She  now  longs  to  sacrifice  her  life  in 
order  that  her  beloved  master  may  be  freed  from 
his  curse.  In  Heinrich,  meanwhile,  the  will  to 
live  wages  a  formidable  combat  with  his  manly 
conscience.  He  has  left  human  habitations  and 
lives  like  a  brute  in  fields  and  woods.  The  hide- 
ous ravages  of  the  disease,  added  to  his  savage 
neglect  of  his  person,  have  made  him  terrible 
and  loathsome  to  behold.  But  Ottegebe,  nothing 
daunted,  remains  firm  in  her  resolution.  Spurned 
and  insulted  by  Heinrich,  she  falls  into  melan- 
choly and  physical  decline.  Her  parents  confide 
her  to  the  care  of  a  pious  hermit.  Here  Heinrich, 
at  last  succumbing  to  the  demoralizing  effect  of 


HAUPTMANN  221 

his  misery,  seeks  her  out,  ready  to  follow  whither- 
soever she  lead. 

Heinrich.    Maid,  thou  art  mine  ! 

Ottegebe.  I  am  the  Lord's.    No,  no. 

Woe  me  !    Ah  come  !    What  say' st  thou? 

Heinrich.  For  to  me 

Is  measured  out  but  so  much  life,  no  more, 
As  grants  the  hollow  of  thy  blessed  hand. 

The  fifth  act  takes  place  in  Heinrich's  ancestral 
castle,  where  preparations  are  made  by  Hart- 
mann  for  a  joyous  reception.  And  now  Heinrich 
returns,  himself  again  in  mind  and  body.  He 
has  been  cured  of  the  plague,  not  through  the 
vicarious  self-immolation  of  Ottegebe,  but,  on  the 
contrary,  just  because  in  the  supreme  moment 
he  found  it  in  him  to  rise  above  his  love  of  self, 
to  prevent  the  sacrifice,  and  to  accept  his  fate  as 
an  immutable  decree  of  Providence.  With  this 
hard-earned  submission  to  the  power  of  God, 
Heinrich  —  Hauptmann's  as  well  as  Hartmann's 
—  has  won  his  deliverance  from  the  judgment. 
And  the  end,  too,  is  the  same  in  both  versions. 
Hartmann  von  Aue,  in  bold  defiance  of  the  strong 
caste  spirit  which  dominates  in  the  literature  of 
the  age  of  chivalry,  marries  Heinrich  to  his  yeo- 
man's daughter.  In  the  play,  also,  the  wedding 


222  MODERN   GERMAN   LITERATURE 

bells  are  sounded  for  the  regenerate  knight  and 
his  virgin  redeemer.  The  legendary  character  of 
Ottegebe  is  not  entirely  preserved  by  Haupt- 
mann.  As  in  Hannele,  he  does  not  hesitate  to 
contaminate  the  young  girl's  saintliness  with  an 
erotic  element,  and  by  a  mystic  touch  each  of  the 
conflicting  emotions  gains  weight  from  the  other. 
It  may  be  questioned  whether  the  poet  has  done 
wisely  to  superadd  to  the  heavenly  heroism  and 
the  sentimental  love  a  suggestion  of  incipient 
sex-life.  Der  arme  Heinrich  has  been  called  a 
mystery  play  of  love ;  but  in  order  that  Ottegebe's 
pure  soul  should  mirror  forth,  together  with  the 
love  of  God,  the  saving  grace  of  human  affection, 
it  was  hardly  necessary  that  she  should  have 
been  depicted  as  a  young  flagellant  vigorously 
plying  the  scourge  on  her  body  to  suppress 
satanic  temptations.  True  it  is  that  Hauptmann 
has  been  able  perfectly  to  reconcile  this  prema- 
ture manifestation  of  sensuality  with  absolute 
modesty  and  saintly  chastity.  Nevertheless  the 
eternally-and-spiritually-feminine  by  which  Hein- 
rich von  Aue  was  drawn  onward  to  a  saving 
conversion  did  not  require  the  admixture  of 
physiological  motives.  But  it  may  be  that  it 
has  heightened  the  "secessionist"  nimbus  which 


HAUPTMANN  223 

hovers  round  Ottegebe  and  a  few  other  women  in 
Hauptmann's  plays,  notably  the  Princess  Sidsilill 
in  Schluck  und  Jau. 

Still  another  difference  between  the  two  ver- 
sions deserves  to  be  noted.  In  the  Middle- High- 
German  story  the  horrors  of  the  miselsuht  with 
which  the  hero  is  afflicted  are  nowhere  described 
with  vivid  detail.  It  is  enough  that  the  misery 
to  which  Heinrich  is  reduced  is  contrasted  in 
a  general  way  with  his  rank  and  wealth.  It 
remained  for  Gerhart  Hauptmann,  after  the  mod- 
erns had  bodied  forth  on  the  stage  with  such 
great  gusto  a  variety  of  inherited  diseases,  to 
present  a  true  or,  at  any  rate,  a  sickening  stage- 
view  of  leprosy.  So,  as  in  Hannele,  the  crass 
realism  of  one  portion  of  the  play  contrasts  with 
the  poetic  romanticism  of  the  other;  the  conflict 
seems  far  greater,  as  the  metrical  uniformity  of 
the  plan  makes  no  allowance  for  the  discrepancy 
and  the  work  is  pitched  to  a  high  average  level 
of  poetic  dignity.  Would  not  the  author  have 
done  better  to  let  us  behold  the  physical  misery 
of  Heinrich  through  a  veil,  as  it  were,  instead 
of  outraging  our  sensibilities  by  uncalled-for 
explicitness  ?  His  occasional  independence  of 
naturalism  has  already  been  pointed  out  in  this 


224  MODERN  GERMAN   LITERATURE 

chapter;  and  in  the  present  instance  one  is  led 
to  regret  that  Heinrich  is  not  treated  with  as 
much  reserve  as  Ottegebe.  Although  Der  arme 
Heinrich  contains  many  single  passages  aglow 
with  wondrous  poetic  beauty,  yet  it  is  not,  as  a 
whole,  up  to  the  standard  of  Hauptmann's  chief 
poetic  efforts. 

Hauptmann  has  named  his  latest  five-act  play, 
Rose  Bernd  (1903),  a  Schauspiel;  a  designation 
which  under  the  customary  classification  per- 
tains to  a  serious  play  with  a  tragic  tendency  but 
a  non-fatal  ending.  The  difference,  if  it  could 
be  applied  to  Rose  Bernd,  would  be  at  most 
purely  superficial.  The  name,  in  fact,  does  not 
signify.1 

Rose  Bernd  is  a  tragedy  in  every  sense 
except  that  the  heroine  is  withdrawn  from  our 
view  this  side  of  her  last  extremity.  Not  that 
the  author  shrank  from  the  issue.  Were  we  to 
behold  Rose  the  infanticide  on  her  way  to  the 
place  of  execution,  or  were  we  harrowed  by  her 
ravings  in  the  violent  ward  of  a  madhouse,  the 
tragedy  would  not  be  more  complete  than  it  is. 

1  Hauptmann,  with  many  modern  dramatists,  uses  great  freedom 
in  the  descriptive  subtitles  of  his  plays.  Die  Weber  he  calls  a  Schau- 
spiel, Vor  Sonnenaufgang  a  soziales  Drama,  Einsame  Menschen  simply 
a  Drama,  etc. 


HAUPTMANN  225 

For  the  exhibition  of  Rose's  soul-life  for  which 
alone  the  author  had  care,  the  above-mentioned 
exciting  finales  are  unnecessary.  And  perhaps 
Hauptmann  has  never  before  rounded  out  the 
portrait  of  a  human  soul  in  such  surely  drawn 
lines;  certainly  not  since  Fuhrmann  HenscJuL 
Like  Die  Weber,  Hannele,  Michael  Kramer,  in 
fact,  like  all  Hauptmann's  plays,  Rose  Bernd  is 
an  outflow  of  his  deep  human  commiseration. 

The  story  is  as  sad  as  it  is  short  and  common. 
Flamm,  mayor  of  the  village,  falls  in  love  with 
his  invalid  wife's  helper,  a  buxom,  fine-looking, 
joyous-hearted  peasant  girl.  Accidentally  the 
relations  between  master  and  servant  are  dis- 
covered by  Streckmann,  a  vain,  unscrupulous 
woman-hunter,  who  puts  the  usual  price  on  his 
silence.  The  girl  refusing  to  comply  is  hounded 
by  him  and  made  to  surfer  unspeakably.  Finally 
she  is  entrapped  and  outraged.  Even  then  the 
persecution  does  not  cease.  Rose's  father  sues 
the  scoundrel  for  slandering  his  daughter's  char- 
acter. Rose  called  upon  to  testify  against  Streck- 
mann is  ashamed  to  tell  the  truth  and  makes  a 
false  oath.  Flamm,  believing  in  Rose's  bad  con- 
duct with  other  men,  generously  acquits  himself 
of  the  blame  for  her  ruin ;  his  wife,  who  has 


226  MODERN  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

nobly  stood  by  Rose,  now  also  weakens  in  her 
sympathy.  At  last  Rose  Bernd  breaks  down 
under  the  terrible  strain  of  so  many  sorrows.  In 
a  lonely  field  she  gives  birth  to  a  child  which 
in  her  frenzied  anguish  she  strangles.  Then  she 
is  arrested.  At  this  point  the  play  leaves  off; 
wisely,  for  the  verdict  of  legal  justice  would 
necessarily  carry  a  dissonance  into  our  mood, 
attuned  as  nearly  to  pure  compassion  as  that  of 
Rose's  deeply  devout  betrothed  from  whom  the 
revelation  of  her  deed  wrings  the  pitying  final 
words  of  the  play :  Das  Madel —  was  mufi  die 
gelitten  han  !  ("  The  lass  —  how  she  must  have 
suffered!") 

However  much  one  is  impressed  by  this  last 
effort  of  Hauptmann,  yet  it  is  not  the  work  of 
transcendent  dramatic  merit  which  his  countless 
admirers  have  been  expecting  from  him  year 
after  year,  to  be  disappointed  again  and  again. 
The  excellences  of  Hauptmann's  later  plays  do 
not  wholly  compensate  for  certain  inherent  de- 
fects which  make  it  look  as  though  he  were 
debarred  by  his  make-up  from  the  achievement 
of  unqualifiedly  great  works.  He  is  not  destined, 
apparently,  to  be  the  Messiah  of  the  German 
stage. 


HAUPTMANN  227 

Hauptmann's  literary  characteristics  have  been 
fully  treated  in  the  beginning  of  this  chapter;  it 
is  therefore  not  necessary  to  revert  to  a  discus- 
sion either  of  his  powers  or  of  his  failings.  All 
in  all,  though  disinclined  to  join  in  the  song  of 
boundless  praise  that  is  raised  to  Gerhart  Haupt- 
mann  by  a  many-voiced  and  ever-swelling  chorus, 
we  gladly  honor  him  in  spite  of  his  limitations  as 
one  of  the  greatest  poets  of  his  time  and  country. 
Lest  our  position  towards  his  work  should  have 
seemed  at  all  lacking  in  the  reverence  justly  due 
to  a  writer  of  his  rank  and  sincerity,  we  want  to 
repeat  the  belief,  set  forth  in  an  early  portion  of 
this  chapter,  that  Hauptmann  in  cultivating  the 
drama  to  the  exclusion  of  every  other  literary 
form  lets  the  richest  acres  of  his  genius  lie  fal- 
low, and  we  plead,  in  extenuation  of  the  critical 
attitude  taken,  a  certain  resentful  sense  of  disap- 
pointment. Nietzsche  once  said  of  Wagner :  "  I 
believe  it  often  happens  that  artists  do  not  real- 
ize what  they  are  best  able  to  do  because  they 
are  too  vain."  One  cannot  help  pointing  the 
aphorism  at  Hauptmann.  He  is  at  his  happiest 
when  letting  his  emotional  nature  break  out  into 
poetic  strains.  He  could  be  the  prince  among 
modern  lyrists  if  he  would.  That  is  why  we 


228  MODERN  GERMAN   LITERATURE 

clamor  for  songs  from  him  —  he  gives  us  nothing 
but  dramas. 

On  the  other  hand,  if  from  the  world  of  hopes 
and  ideals  we  turn  our  eyes  to  that  of  results  and 
realities,  we  may  well  be  proud  of  Gerhart  Haupt- 
mann.  At  the  age  of  forty-two  he  has  to  his 
credit  an  imposing  array  of  performances.  His 
artistic  creativeness  is  not  past  its  heyday.  A 
richer  development  may  yet  lie  before  him:  a 
growth  in  character,  intellect,  and  artistic  ability. 
We  have  much  reason  to  be  grateful  to  him  for 
what  he  has  already  given ;  and  since  ideal  hopes 
will  not  be  suppressed,  who  shall  keep  us  from 
looking  for  still  greater  gifts  ? 

[Hauptmann's  latest  play,  Elga,  appeared  after  the  plates  of 
this  volume  were  ready  for  the  press,  so  that  it  could  not  be 
included  in  the  review.] 


MODERN 
GERMAN   LITERATURE 

WOMEN  WRITERS 


229 


WOMEN  WRITERS   OF  THE  NINE- 
TEENTH  CENTURY 

It  is  the  prevailing  practice  of  historians  of  Ger- 
man literature  to  maintain  a  somewhat  rigid  sepa- 
ration of  sexes,  in  their  classification  of  writers. 
There  is  thus  some  precedent  for  the  not  alto- 
gether philosophic  procedure  of  the  present  paper, 
in  segregating  a  number  of  writers  by  virtue  of 
their  sex  for  a  separate  critical  treatment.  In 
respect  to  quantity,  the  contribution  made  by 
women  in  the  field  of  German  letters  in  the  nine- 
teenth century  is  sufficiently  enormous  to  jus- 
tify such  a  segregation.  And  there  is  a  certain 
continuity  of  development  running  through  the 
whole  of  it  which  makes  it  well  worth  while  to 
consider  the  Frauenschriftstellerei  of  the  century 
by  itself. 

The  general  critical  judgment  passed  upon  the 
great  bulk  of  it  will  not  fall  wide  of  this  verdict : 
A  startling  absence  of  freshness  and  originality, 
counterbalanced  in  a  measure  by  a  great  imitative 
faculty.  Naturally  we  wonder  where  the  cause 

of  the  limitation  may  lie.     In  Germany  it  may 

231 


232  MODERN   GERMAN   LITERATURE 

be  that  absorption  in  domestic  interests  has  been 
a  chief  cause  for  that  fatal  want  of  outlook  and 
that  seeming  incapacity  for  the  fullest  self-expres- 
sion which  exclude  the  greater  part  of  feminine 
fiction  from  the  legitimate  domain  of  letters.  But 
are  the  arrested  development  of  the  artistic  im- 
pulse and  the  atrophy  of  the  higher  intellectual 
powers  really  to  be  held  alone  responsible  for 
the  defective  literary  performance  of  the  German 
woman  ?  A  glance  at  the  writers  of  other  coun- 
tries gives  rise  to  doubt.  In  England,  George 
Eliot  has  remained  the  only  great  novelist. 
George  Sand  has  been  without  a  successor  in 
France.  And  in  the  United  States,  where  a  well- 
organized  woman-worship  has  fostered  a  greater 
independence,  and  where  opportunities  for  educa- 
tion have  certainly  been  ample,  not  a  single  work 
of  art  of  the  grander  stamp  has  to  this  day 
emanated  from  woman.  Whether,  then,  there 
be  any  nature-ordained  limitations  which  deny 
to  woman  the  gift  of  truly  creative  achievement 
is  a  matter  regarding  which,  at  the  outset  of 
this  review,  we  may  ask  permission  to  keep  our 
judgment  in  suspense. 

The  history  of  the  literary  activity  of  the  Ger- 
man woman  prior  to  the  nineteenth  century,  when 


WOMEN  WRITERS  233 

she  made  her  official  bow  in  polite  literature,  can 
be  gathered  only  by  indirection,  namely,  by  ascer- 
taining the  extent  of  her  influence  over  literary 
art.  Beyond  a  doubt  there  always  has  existed, 
under  some  guise  or  other,  a  measure  of  feminine 
control  over  letters.  For  instance,  in  both  classic 
periods  women  were  a  dominant  force:  Minne- 
dienst  (the  "  service  of  the  lady")  is  the  mainspring 
of  nearly  all  German  lyrics  to  the  end  of  the  thir- 
teenth century;  and  even  the  great  epic  writers 
of  the  Hohenstaufen  era  are  exponents  of  the 
chivalric  code  of  love ;  notably  does  Tristan  und 
Isolde  breathe  its  spirit. 

Sterner  and  less  romantic  times  put  an  end 
to  this  feminine  influence  of  the  golden  age.  It 
reappeared  in  a  more  rational  form  in  the  course 
of  the  eighteenth  century.  Womankind  has  an 
unassailable  title  to  our  gratitude  because  of  the 
fact  that  the  discreet  censorship  which  imposed 
upon  the  maturer  works  of  our  classic  writers 
their  wonderful  artistic  reserve  lay  in  the  hands 
of  women.  The  feminine  influence  it  is  that 
lay  also  at  the  root  of  ideal  conceptions  like  Iphi- 
genie,  Leonore,  Dorothea,  Johanna.  The  women 
of  Weimar  and  Jena,  and  elsewhere  too,  repre- 
sented an  extraordinarily  fine  culture  of  mind  and 


234  MODERN  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

taste.  The  copious  volumes  of  correspondence 
of  the  closing  eighteenth  and  the  opening  nine- 
teenth century,  which  are  among  the  most  gen- 
uine human  documents  of  times  intellectually  so 
much  alive,  disprove  finally  the  self-satisfied  alle- 
gation that  the  credit  for  the  advanced  literary 
culture  of  women  belongs  to  the  declining  nine- 
teenth century,  and  is  mainly  due  to  America. 

But  literary  culture  is  not  necessarily  latent 
genius. 

The  imitative  character  of  feminine  authorship 
to  which  reference  was  made  above  is  attested 
by  the  rush  of  feminine  contributions  to  every 
variety  of  fiction,  once  its  era  has  been  fully 
ushered  in.  The  misery  of  the  woman  of  letters 
dearly  loves  company. 

The  performances  of  the  female  satellites  of 
the  classic  writers  need  not  be  taken  up  in  this 
place.  A  catalogue  of  empty  names  and  titles 
would  be  the  only  yield.  None  of  them  has  left 
an  ineffaceable  impression.  Even  the  one  hun- 
dred and  twenty-five  volumes  of  fiction  by  Hen- 
riette  Hanke  —  who  remembers  the  name  ?  — 
are  incased  in  solid,  impenetrable  oblivion.  Per- 
chance a  passable  poem  here  and  there  by  Luise 
Brachmann,  who  leans  hard  upon  the  manly 


WOMEN  WRITERS  235 

shoulders  of  Schiller,  survives.  Suffice  it  to  say, 
in  order  to  gain  a  starting  point,  that  about 
the  beginning  of  the  nineteenth  century  feminine 
fiction  came  into  vogue.  Almost  immediately  it 
divided  into  two  sorts,  between  which  we  have  to 
distinguish  to  this  day.  Crudely  we  may  desig- 
nate these  classes  as  mere  amusement  novels  and 
novels  with  a  purpose,  —  a  purpose  which  may  be 
purely  artistic,  but  is,  as  a  rule,  educational.  It 
cannot,  of  course,  be  said  that  books  of  the  former 
class  disclaim  all  ethical  tendency  whatever.  On 
the  contrary,  the  authors  champion  the  accepted 
maxims  of  respectable  society  and  prepare  them 
in  usum  Delphini  or  rather  Delphinas,  since  they 
purvey  them  to  the  Backfisch  or  h'ohere  Tochter, 
the  "young  person"  of  Germany.  It  is  fiction  of 
this  sort  that  has  attached  a  rather  odious  sense 
to  the  word  Frauenchriftstellerei.  Not,  indeed, 
on  any  moral  grounds.  For  the  somewhat  sugary 
morality  of  the  authoress  of  this  class  is  unim- 
peachable, and  the  most  exacting  Sunday-school 
superintendent  will  cheerfully  testify  to  the 
soundness  of  her  religious  convictions.  Nor  is 
a  theory  of  life  lacking,  either.  It  conforms  to 
that  benedictory  optimism  of  which  Mr.  Howells 
claims  to  have  discovered  the  ordinary  cause 


236  MODERN  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

in  an  uncommonly  well-cooked  dinner.  Not  a 
drop  of  bitterness  ever  makes  its  way  from 
such  a  gentle  heart  to  the  pen.  Bad  people,  to 
be  sure,  there  be,  presumably  for  the  sake  of 
variety  in  the  color  scheme  of  the  universe,  and 
things  do  have  a  way  of  sometimes  going  wrong. 
But  the  lady  writer's  unalterable  forgivingness 
wears  out  the  most  unremitting  persecutions  of 
a  hounding  fate ;  and  to  have  retribution  meted 
out  to  him  by  this  sweet  soul,  the  villain  must 
indulge  in  veritable  antics  of  wickedness.  She 
much  more  enjoys  praying  for  him,  and  he,  like 
Editha's  improbable  burglar,  likes  to  have  himself 
occasionally  converted,  for  a  spell.  Yet  one  can 
ill  afford  simply  to  brush  aside  these  "  like-mother- 
used-to-make "  novels,  because  a  very  large  por- 
tion of  our  contemporary  fiction,  here  as  well  as 
in  Germany,  is  concocted  after  the  same  recipe, 
from  the  same  mush  and  milk,  and  with  the  same 
well-greased  kitchen  utensils.  Moreover,  it  is 
unfortunately  to  this  class  of  books  that  Ameri- 
cans owe  their  supposed  knowledge  of  the  Ger- 
man woman.  Externally  she  consists  mainly  of 
a  pair  of  soulful  blue  eyes,  a  brace  of  uncommonly 
heavy  flaxen  tresses,  a  sweet  smile,  and  a  Gret- 
chen  bag.  Her  intellectual  horizon  is  marked  out 


WOMEN  WRITERS  237 

by  her  accomplishments.  She  reads  and  recites 
Schiller  and  the  expurgated  Heine  —  over  her 
fine  embroidery ;  she  sings  and  plays  —  Schu- 
bert, Mendelssohn,  and  a  family  sort  of  Schu- 
mann ;  it  remains  to  say  that  she  knows  French 
and  English  and  is  inordinately  fond  of  the  ap- 
proved varieties  of  flowers.  She  is  the  famed 
angelic  maid,  the  clinging  damsel  without  a  back- 
bone whom,  according  to  Helene  Bohlau,  the  Ger- 
man loves  so  dearly.  According  to  that  writer 
she  meets  the  world  with  naively  astonished  eyes, 
and  on  the  whole  manages  to  have  an  easy  time 
of  it,  for  a  thousand  knights-errant  are  dying  to 
discover  her  and  to  make  her  —  make  them  happy. 

Yet  in  fairness  to  the  Germans  it  must  be  said 
that  women  of  a  taller  mental  stature  and  a  larger 
temperamental  gamut  have  long  ere  yesterday 
stepped  in  front  of  this  anaemic  doll  and  cast 
eclipse  upon  her;  and  that  as  a  novel-heroine 
she  is  now  suffered  to  smirk  and  simper  on  the 
bookshelves  of  the  penny  circulating  libraries 
in  her  own  fatherland,  or  to  be  translated  into 
English  by  Mrs.  Caspar  Wister. 

Let  us  first  turn  our  attention  to  the  Tendenz- 
schrifts teller ei  of  women  writers.  Though  ex- 
ceedingly few  women  have  excelled  in  literature 


238  MODERN   GERMAN   LITERATURE 

by  easy  mastery  of  the  higher  craftsmanship,  by 
that  power  of  intense  concentration  and  seiz- 
ure of  human  nature  in  which  the  great  writer 
reveals  himself,  yet  many  have  shown  an  uncom- 
mon intellectual  force  of  the  aggressive  kind. 
On  the  whole,  it  may  be  averred  without  undue 
exaggeration  that  nearly  all  women  who  play 
a  conspicuous  role  in  German  letters  write  in  a 
reformatory  frame  of  mind.  And  that  in  a  great 
majority  of  cases  the  woman's  cause  is  their  cho- 
sen field  of  effort  goes  almost  without  saying. 
It  is  natural,  also,  that  these  spirited  innovators 
come  to  the  front  mostly  in  periods  of  unrest, 
when  fiction  becomes  the  theater  of  a  heated 
social  warfare.  At  such  times  the  vigilant  woman 
of  the  pen  contrives  under  cover  of  literary  exer- 
tions to  wrest  from  the  turmoil  a  fresh  morsel 
of  liberty  for  her  sex.  This  helps  explain  why 
even  the  female  adherents  of  romanticism  did  not 
subscribe  to  the  political  and  religious  Toryism 
into  which  the  movement  issued.  The  emotional 
Bettina  von  Arnim  exhibits  much  of  the  specifi- 
cally romantic  extravagance  of  sentiment;  and  in 
the  greatest  virtue  of  romanticism,  the  capacity 
for  poetic  experience,  she  also  excels.  Her  more 
than  half  fictitious  "  Correspondence  of  Goethe 


WOMEN  WRITERS  239 

with  a  Child  "  is  certainly  one  of  the  finest  prod- 
ucts of  German  romanticism.  Yet  in  many  of 
her  political  and  religious  views  she  is  in  full 
accord  with  "  Young  Germany."  Dies  Buck  ge- 
tiort  dem  Konig  ("  This  Book  is  for  the  King ") 
is  a  bold  manifesto  calling  attention  in  a  marked 
manner  to  the  starving  condition  of  the  Silesian 
weavers1  and  blaming  a  great  deal  of  needless 
human  misery  upon  bureaucratic  quackery. 

The  active  period  of  Young  Germany  ex- 
tended from  the  Paris  July  Revolution  (1830) 
to  the  outbreak  of  the  German  Revolution  of 
1848.  The  momentous  social  forces  that  were 
enlisted  in  the  onslaught  of  this  school  of  writers 
against  the  castle  of  conservatism  lent  a  practical 
significance  to  the  cry  for  the  "  emancipation  " 
of  woman.  The  Young  Germans,  accepting  the 
doctrines  of  the  French  socialists,  and  familiar 
with  the  writings  of  St.  Simon  and  George  Sand, 
which  had  shed  a  new  light  upon  the  civic  rela- 
tion of  the  sexes,  first  set  up  the  audacious  de- 
mand for  civil  marriage.  It  reverberates  in  all 
keys  and  modulations  through  the  works  of  the 
women  of  Young  Germany,  from  its  sane  and 
clear  phrasings  by  Fanny  Lewald  to  the  more 

1  See  p.  149  of  this  volume. 


240  MODERN  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

than  indiscreet  Utopianisms  of  the  Free  Love 
advocates.  For  soon  not  only  the  sacrament  but 
also  the  civil  institution  of  marriage  was  put  in 
doubt ;  so  that  even  radicals  were  frightened  back 
by  the  meaning  with  which  "  emancipation,"  now 
the  watchword  for  the  final  purpose  of  the  femi- 
nine rebellion,  was  invested  by  extremists.  We 
see,  then,  that  towards  the  middle  of  the  century 
which  has  been  called  a  century  of  democracy, 
the  rising  sense  of  personality  permitted  the 
wildest  anarchism  to  run  riot  within  a  regenera- 
tive scheme  which  was  essentially  collectivist ;  a 
phenomenon  which  makes  us  question  whether 
socialism  and  individualism  are  not  after  all  but 
emanations  of  one  and  the  same  fundamental 
impulse. 

The  uncontrolled  vagaries  of  the  fanatical 
emancipationist  did  much  to  alienate  general 
sympathy  from  the  rational  aims  of  more  clear- 
eyed  leaders.  The  "  advanced  woman  "  of  to-day, 
were  she  to  study  these  feminine  contributions 
of  the  Young  German  and  the  subsequent  litera- 
tures, could  not  fail  to  be  amazed  at  the  modern- 
ness  of  the  cures  for  the  ailments  of  society  that 
are  advertised.  Julie  Burow,  for  example,  urges 
every  woman  to  adopt  a  trade  or  a  profession  for 


WOMEN   WRITERS  241 

the  sake  of  material  independence.  And  Luise 
Otto,  the  founder  of  the  Allgemeiner  Deutscher 
Frauenverein  ("  General  Union  of  German  Wo- 
men") (1855),  even  advocates  the  organization 
of  workingwomen  of  every  grade  through  labor 
unions. 

We  may  roughly  classify  the  propagandist  fic- 
tion of  the  revolutionary  and  post-revolutionary 
period  according  to  the  great  undercurrents  that 
run  through  its  social  philosophy,  the  collectivist 
and  the  individualist;  in  a  third  class  might  be 
gathered  the  writings  of  the  opposition,  reaction- 
ary either  from  conviction  or  from  inertia  and 
indifference.  But  such  a  simple  classification 
must  confess  itself  far  too  crude  to  do  more  than 
draw  attention  to  the  most  obvious  distinctions. 

The  contrast  between  the  main  forces  within 
the  Young  German  school  is  tellingly  exemplified 
in  Ida  Hahn-Hahn  and  Fanny  Lewald.  Their 
lives  reach  from  the  beginning  of  the  century 
to  the  beginning  of  the  new  era  in  Germany. 
Fanny  Lewald  lived  from  1811  to  1889.  Count- 
ess Ida  Hahn-Hahn  was  born  in  1805  and  died 
in  1880,  —  much  too  late  for  the  good  of  her 
literary  fame.  She  had  a  most  tensely  eccentric 
or  Byronesque  temperament,  as  they  used  to  say 


242  MODERN  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

in  the  days  of  her  prime.  The  experiences  of 
her  childhood,  her  matrimonial  misfortunes,  her 
conversion  to  Catholicism,  her  brief  novitiate 
in  a  convent,  and  other  romantic  interludes 
show  her  personal  career  to  have  been  so  inti- 
mately connected  with  the  fate  of  her  heroines 
that  Hahn-Hahn's  novels  may  be  considered 
as  links  in  a  long  autobiographic  chain.  From 
the  beginning  —  A  us  der  Gesellschaft  ("From 
the  Realm  of  Society")  (1838)  —  she  elected 
German  high  life  as  a  congenial  field,  and  by 
vouchsafing  her  readers  the  coveted  peep  into 
that  glittering  Vanity  Fair  she  easily  attained 
popularity.  In  reading  Hahn-Hahn  you  are 
made  to  feel  distinctly  that  you  belong  to  the 
misera  plebs.  You  have  bought  a  ticket  that 
admits  to  the  gallery  only,  and  are  now  looking 
down  upon  the  dazzling  assembly  with  all  of  a 
plebeian's  delight.  And  as  if  to  show  you  that 
your  confidence  was  not  misplaced,  the  noble 
Countess  herself  stands  at  the  door  below  scru- 
tinizing the  arrivals  and  counting  their  quarter- 
ings.  No  hero  passes  muster  before  her  unless 
he  is  at  least  a  baron  and  can  present  himself  in 
a  cavalry  uniform  or  in  court  attire.  Commoner 
and  civilian  are  admitted  only  upon  absolute 


WOMEN   WRITERS  243 

proof  of  genius,  which  for  the  Countess  seems 
to  consist  of  an  indefinite  expansiveness.  A 
genius,  in  Hahn-Hahn's  estimation,  is  one  whose 
soul  is  capable  of  "  immensity."  To  everything 
that  is  plain,  from  clothes  to  character,  the  lady 
has  an  unconquerable  aversion.  Her  faultlessly 
well-groomed  men  and  her  stupendously  milli- 
nered  women  oscillate  between  ballroom  and  bou- 
doir as  the  natural  poles  of  mundane  existence. 
Oddly  enough,  in  this  painted  and  perfumed  world 
of  the  formalities,  the  most  startlingly  unconven- 
tional things  continually  do  happen.  The  Countess 
revels  in  tragedies  of  the  soul  —  as  she  under- 
stands them.  To  us  of  to-day  Hahn-Hahn's  peo- 
ple, fidgeting  forever  in  their  heart  struggles, 
seem  somewhat  like  fishes  floundering  on  the 
hook,  and  we  regard  them  without  any  real  human 
pity.  But  her  books  have,  in  spite  of  their  glaring 
paradoxes,  which  are  aggravated  by  a  want  of  the 
higher  technical  requisites,  a  certain  fascination 
in  that  the  morbid  subjectivity  of  the  hysterical 
authoress  is  astoundingly  revealed  amidst  all  the 
gorgeous  trappings.  By  virtue  of  this  frankness, 
and  it  alone,  she  is  decidedly  modern.  Countess 
Ida  Harm-Hahn  draws  from  life  and  goes  to  the 
mirror  in  quest  of  models.  Heinrich  Heine  is 


244  MODERN  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

authority  for  the  statement  that  the  German  au- 
thoress writes  with  only  one  eye  on  her  page, 
since  the  other  is  fixed  on  some  man.  It  will 
be  seen  that  his  criticism  does  not  apply  to  the 
Countess  Hahn-Hahn.  Her  heroines  are  all  of 
them  Countesses  Ida  Hahn-Hahn:  gushing  en- 
thusiasts, doting  but  capricious  lovers,  fanatical 
devotees.  They  are  drowned  in  a  sea  of  emo- 
tional conflicts,  and  the  Countess  erects  for  each 
of  them  a  tombstone  with  the  epitaph:  Genius 
did  it.  The  modern  reader,  to  be  sure,  will  ex- 
culpate genius  and  lay  the  blame  on  an  impish 
impulsiveness  of  temperament.  An  instance  is 
the  fate  of  "  Faustine,"  the  truest  reflex  of  the 
authoress  herself.  Faustine  tears  her  bleeding 
heart  from  the  grasp  of  her  first  lover  to  pass 
it  from  hand  to  hand  and  finally,  for  a  rest  cure, 
to  take  it  to  a  nunnery.  Her  pernicious  life 
philosophy  is  contained  in  this  rich  epigram: 
"  To  love  is  to  devote  oneself  to  a  single  object ; 
but  why  should  that  object  always  be  the  same  ?  " 
Hahn-Hahn,  by  the  strongly  individualistic 
tendency,  foreshadows  the  Herrenmoral  rampant 
in  the  literature  of  to-day.  That  is  to  say,  she 
is  a  prophetess  of  "  emancipation  "  for  which  the 
Young  Germans,  notably  Gutzkow  and  Laube, 


WOMEN   WRITERS  245 

were  striving;  but  the  enlarged  freedom  is  not 
offered  to  the  men  or  women  of  ordinary  caliber, 
the  Vielzuvielen  of  Nietzsche.  No;  it  is  exclu- 
sively a  prerogative  of  the  exceptional  person ; 
or,  in  Stirner-Nietzschean  phraseology,  of  der 
Einzige  or  der  Eigene.  Only  —  this  is  Hahn- 
Hahn's  personal  note  —  the  exceptional  man,  the 
great  personality,  happens  regularly  to  be  an 
aristocrat. 

Over  against  this  unreasoned  accentuation  of 
aristocratic  egotism  may  be  placed  the  democratic 
altruism  of  Fanny  Lewald.  The  sober  qualities 
which  make  this  bourgeoise  of  Jewish  extraction 
a  potent  educational  factor  in  the  Frauenbewe- 
gung  (woman  movement),  render  her  distinctly 
unromantic  and,  it  must  be  confessed,  a  trifle 
prosy.  The  motive  power  of  her  convincing  elo- 
quence is  not  a  fiery  temperament,  but  cool  logic. 
She  is  clear  and  definite,  always  temperate, 
and  severely  judicial,  hence  the  reforms  which 
she  advocates  are  within  the  bounds  of  reason. 
She  ponders  the  same  problems  as  Ida  Hahn- 
Hahn,  but  with  greater  impartiality  and  depth. 
The  tendency  of  her  contemporaries  to  exempt 
the  genius  from  the  common  moral  obligations 
had  a  formidable  opponent  in  Fanny  Lewald. 


246  MODERN  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

She  studied  the  much-discussed  marriage  ques- 
tion in  such  a  fair  and  sober  spirit  that  her  novel 
Eine  Lebensfrage  ("A  Question  of  Life")  (1845), 
one  of  the  earliest  and  most  direct  literary  argu- 
ments in  favor  of  divorce,  commanded  general 
attention  and  respect.  Among  the  earlier  cham- 
pions of  the  "new  woman,"  Fanny  Lewald  de- 
serves the  first  place  of  honor.  Her  successful 
practical  activities  for  the  advancement  of  the 
cause  of  women  were  in  full  accord  with  her 
literary  work. 

It  is  only  natural  that  the  aims  of  the  radical 
women  should  have  stricken  horror  to  pious  Prot- 
estant souls  like  Marie  Nathusius,  the  conserv- 
ative and  orthodox  authoress  of  the  Tagebuch 
eines  armen  Frauleins  ("  Diary  of  a  Poor  Gentle- 
woman") (1853).  This  exquisitely  "inward"  book 
breathes  wholly  the  humble  spirit  of  obedience 
which  would  not  meddle  with  the  affairs  of  the 
world,  believing  them  safe  enough  in  the  hand  of 
Providence. 

On  the  Catholic  side  the  projects  of  Young 
Germany  are  viewed  with  even  greater  alarm,  as, 
for  instance,  by  Annette  von  Droste-Hulshoff 
(1797-1848),  the  most  remarkable  woman  writer 
of  her  generation,  and  in  the  judgment  of  many 


WOMEN   WRITERS  247 

competent  critics  the  foremost  among  all  German 
poets  of  her  sex.  Droste's  real  strength,  however, 
does  not  lie  in  the  defense  of  her  traditional  ideals, 
of  which,  by  the  way,  she  regards  George  Sand  as 
the  arch  enemy.  On  the  contrary,  the  "purpose" 
in  her  books,  springing  from  bigotry  and  a  certain 
religious  mysticism,  overcasts  her  artistic  clear- 
ness and  is  the  very  feature  that  forbids  unquali- 
fied admiration.  For  the  self-repression  in  Droste's 
works  is  much  more  than  artistic  restraint.  The 
mistiness  of  the  composition  makes  us  conscious 
of  her  want  of  outlook.  This  limitation  is  com- 
pensated in  Droste's  novels  by  an  uncompromis- 
ing veracity  and  rare  minuteness  of  observation, 
powers  which  qualified  this  daughter  of  the  "  red 
soil "  of  Westphalia  to  become  our  first  great 
representative  of  "  regional  "  art.  Still  greater 
is  Droste  in  her  lyrics.  They  are  a  fascinat- 
ing blend  of  rugged  strength  of  character  and 
delicacy  of  perception,  and  reveal  an  amazing 
nature-sense  which  knows  how  to  express  the 
personality  of  the  meanest  object  of  nature.  In 
reproducing  her  sensuous  impressions  of  an  en- 
semble such  as  a  landscape,  the  poetess  calls 
up  in  the  reader  novel  experiences  of  nature,  in 
which  respect  she  may  rightly  be  called  an  early 


248  MODERN  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

impressionist,  a  forerunner  of  such  moderns  as 
Gabriele  d'Annunzio. 

Likewise  averse  to  the  participation  of  women 
in  public  life  is  another  powerful  lyrist,  the  Vien- 
nese Betty  Paoli  (1815-1894).  Her  poetry  be- 
trays much  more  frankly  than  Droste's  its  motive 

power : 

Ich  bin  nichts  waiter  als  ein  Herz, 
Das  viel  gelebt  und  viel  gelitten. 

She  might  have  said  geliebt  instead  of  gelebt, 
and  come  nearer  to  the  truth.  In  poems  full 
of  intense  yet  rather  reflective  passion  she  dis- 
countenances all  feminine  ambition ;  woman  can 
find  her  only  chance  of  happiness  in  love,  self- 
effacing  love.  Nature  has  thus  circumscribed 
her  lot,  but  has  at  the  same  time  endowed  her 
with  a  power  of  blissful  self-surrender  far  beyond 
any  of  which  the  coarser-grained  organization  of 
man  is  capable. 

From  these  serious  writers  we  must  now  turn 
aside  for  a  moment  to  the  two  most  prolific 
women  writers  of  the  entire  nineteenth  century, 
writers  who  manifest  an  attitude  of  unruffled 
placidity  towards  questions  of  ethical  import,  of 
which  stoicism  the  last  secret  is  stolid  indif- 
ference. 


WOMEN  WRITERS  249 

Luise  Miihlbach  (1814-1873)  stood  quite  apart 
from  the  triumphs  and  defeats  of  Young  Ger- 
many, although  she  was  married  to  a  prominent 
member  of  that  school.  Seldom  before  the  days 
of  our  now  fortunately  expiring  craze  for  "  his- 
torical "  romance  has  the  vogue  of  a  writer  so 
far  outstripped  his  merits  as  was  the  case  with 
Miihlbach.  She  was  certainly  not  without  con- 
siderable talent;  but  she  was  utterly  devoid  of 
artistic  stability,  and  permitted  her  ruinously 
facile  pen  to  run  away  with  her  literary  con- 
science. Yet  this  ungoverned  quill-driver  had 
her  most  loyal  readers  amongst  the  cultured 
classes,  because  her  novels  were  perfectly  suited 
to  the  shallow  taste  for  historical  anecdote  that 
prevailed  for  a  long  time  after  the  revolution  of 
1848.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  her  characters  had 
as  faint  a  resemblance  to  their  originals  as  the 
mute  procession  men  in  a  Shakespearean  play 
bear  to  the  figures  they  represent:  they  only 
paraded  in  their  masks  and  clothes.  Muhlbach's 
first  phenomenal  success  in  the  field  of  historical 
romance  was  "  Frederick  the  Great  and  his  Court" 
(1854),  a  novel  in  thirteen  interminable  parts. 
After  that,  under  the  spur  of  increasing  popular- 
ity, she  averaged  a  baker's  dozen  of  volumes  a 


250  MODERN  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

year.  The  whole  field  of  modern  history  was  can- 
vassed for  its  backstair  gossip.  There  is  hardly 
a  famous  personage  of  the  eighteenth  or  nine- 
teenth century  up  to  Frederick  III  whom  Mlihl- 
bach  did  not  cut  up  and  serve  up  in  her  literary 
kitchen.  Under  her  real  name  (Frau  Professor 
Mundt)  she  enjoyed  in  Berlin  a  reputation  as 
a  capital  cook  and  saving  housekeeper.  But 
although  her  domestic  economy  extended  also 
to  her  literary  work  and  she  spread  her  heroes 
thin  enough  so  as  to  make  them  go  the  farther, 
yet  before  the  hand  of  death  stopped  her  pen, 
at  the  age  of  sixty,  the  limited  supply  had  practi- 
cally given  out,  and  during  her  last  years  she 
was  forced  to  rehash  the  old  favorites. 

Misfortune  never  comes  single.  Charlotte  Birch- 
Pfeiffer  (1800-1868)  is  the  Luise  Muhlbach  of  the 
German  drama.  For  a  true  dramatist  she  lacked 
the  first  and  last  requirement,  —  the  power  to 
grasp  character;  but  she  knew  how  to  create 
an  effective  role.  She  could  not  invent  a  plot; 
but  she  had  great  constructive  skill  of  a  certain 
cheap  kind,  a  perfect  mastery  of  the  claptrap  of 
the  stage,  and  absolute  control  over  the  facial 
muscles  and  tear  ducts  of  the  groundling.  Her 
plays  fairly  drip  with  maudlin  sentimentality. 


WOMEN  WRITERS 


251 


Withal  she  was  very  enterprising.  Were  she 
writing  in  these  days,  Birch- Pfeiffer  might  justly 
assert  her  patent  to  one  method  of  that  singular 
manifestation  of  our  democracy,  the  theatrical 
trust,  for  she  dramatized  every  popular  novel  she 
could  lay  hands  on.  French  and  English  writers, 
such  as  Dickens,  Bronte,  Victor  Hugo,  George 
Sand,  Bulwer,  George  Eliot,  and  home  novelists, 
as  Auerbach,  Spindler,  and  Schiicking,  were  pro- 
miscuously prepared  for  the  stage. 

In  dealing  with  these  famous  authoresses  one 
lapses  easily  from  that  dignity  which  is  some- 
how expected  of  the  literary  historian.  In  exten- 
uation, the  Horatian  Difficile  est  satiram  non 
scribere  may  be  pleaded.  At  any  rate,  the  sum 
total  of  the  feminine  fiction  of  the  romantic  and 
the  Young  German  era,  as  well  as  of  that  imme- 
diately following,  is  ill  calculated  to  convert  the 
skeptic.  We  behold,  on  the  one  hand,  an  agita- 
tion which  takes  its  cues  from  robust  masculine 
minds  and  in  the  main  retails  the  ideas  of  others 
to  the  sluggish  comprehension  of  the  public. 
This  is  done  in  most  cases  without  much  defer- 
ence to  the  dictates  of  the  aesthetic  conscience. 
Nevertheless  one  significant  change  is  wrought 
out  by  the  feministic  drift  of  this  fiction,  namely, 


252  MODERN   GERMAN   LITERATURE 

the  gradual  shifting  of  the  center  of  interest  from 
the  hero  to  the  heroine.  Having  her  frequently 
exorbitant  claims  refused  in  the  material  world, 
woman  transfers  them  to  the  realm  of  fiction. 
And  so,  without  any  great  artistic  meaning,  the 
novels  which  women  write  and  women  read  and 
in  which  women  are  the  leading  figures  furnish 
an  inventory  of  the  feminine  aspirations  of  the 
period.  A  great  technical  gain  accrued  to  this 
class  of  books  from  the  increasing  power  of 
character  observation  and  growing  zest  for  psy- 
chological inquiry.  Little  by  little  it  came  to  be 
realized  that  the  best  judge  of  the  moral  organi- 
zation of  woman  is  woman  herself,  and  when  this 
recognition  was  eventually  coupled  with  the  ana- 
lytic skill  of  to-day,  then  at  last  the  conditions 
were  ripe  under  which  alone  the  German  authoress 
was  able  to  seize  woman's  life  in  its  fullness. 

Quite  in  contrast  to  the  purpose  novel  stands  the 
huge  mass  of  mere  amusement  fiction,  which  has 
been  characterized  above.1  Throughout  the  cen- 
tury its  output  is  mainly  regulated  by  the  commer- 
cial law  of  demand  and  supply.  By  the  middle  of 
the  century  this  kind  of  novel-writing,  being  then 
practically  the  one  outlet  for  the  "  intellectual " 

l  See  pp.  235-237. 


WOMEN   WRITERS  253 

ambition  of  women,  had  taken  on  the  aspect  of 
a  teachable  and  learnable  trade.  Public  taste  had 
settled  into  a  comfortable  sameness,  and  from  now 
on  the  technical  accomplishments  of  the  artisan 
novelists  were  quite  equal  to  the  claims  made  on 
their  talents.  The  woods  of  fiction  land  were  peo- 
pled by  permanent  and  accommodating  settlers. 
The  intending  authoress  need  only  shake  a  tree 
and  down  came  the  baron  or  officer  or  professor 
or  artist  that  was  wanted,  and  the  subsidiary  char- 
acters were  equally  obliging  in  dropping  down 
ready  made  and  just  as  good  as  new.  Even  the 
plot  and  the  diction  were  cut  and  dried.  With 
the  aid  of  the  family  magazines,  among  which  Die 
Gartenlaube  and  Uber  Land  iind  Meer  marked  the 
highest  level  tolerated  by  the  "  general  reader,"  the 
conventionalized  novel  as  well  as  the  convention- 
alized lyric  predominated  throughout  the  third 
quarter  of  the  nineteenth  century  in  distressing 
uniformity.  But  we  only  have  to  think  of  such 
books  as  Winston  Churchill's  The  Crisis  in  order 
to  see  what  an  astonishing  success  smiles  fre- 
quently upon  works  of  this  order.  As  for  the 
"  tendency,"  it  must  not  be  supposed  that  the  pas- 
time fiction  has  n't  any.  We  find  it  wholly  con- 
cordant with  the  general  way  of  thinking.  The 


254  MODERN  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

great  majority  of  these  writings  display  a  species 
of  mild,  dilute  liberalism.  For  after  the  strenuous 
agitation  set  afloat  by  Young  Germany  had  suf- 
fered shipwreck  in  the  disaster  of  1848,  its  smaller 
debris  drifted  peacefully  on  the  shallow  waters  of 
amusement  fiction.  In  this  generation  it  was  con- 
ceded that  women  should  strive  for  freedom,  but 
the  extent  or  degree  of  this  freedom  was  a  matter 
of  higgling  dispute.  So,  for  instance,  the  question 
was  raised,  What  callings  are  suitable  for  a  woman? 
And  it  is  quite  in  harmony  with  the  meaning  art 
then  had  for  a  writer  like  Wilhelmine  von  Hillern, 
the  daughter  of  Charlotte  Birch- Pfeiffer,  to  con- 
clude that  the  laurels  which  grow  on  the  tree  of 
science  are  beyond  the  reach  of  woman,  but  that 
she  may  pluck  her  laurels  lustily  from  the  tree  of 
art ;  as  though  excellence  in  art  were  less  difficult 
to  attain  than  distinction  in  science.  The  "liber- 
alism "  of  the  women  novelists  shows  itself  in  their 
incessant  war  upon  prejudices,  but  they  select 
either  such  prejudices  as  no  longer  prevail,  or 
those  which  it  is  safe  enough  to  fight,  and,  as 
a  rule,  their  heart  is  not  in  the  battle.  We  have 
refrained  from  discussing  specimens  of  the  out- 
and-out  amusement  novel  in  the  earlier  half  of 
the  century.  For  the  period  that  lies  between 


WOMEN  WRITERS  255 

1848  and  the  great  war  of  1870  Luise  Miihlbach 
was  given  as  a  type,  although  she  made  pretense 
to  position  as  an  "  historical "  novelist. 

The  paragon  among  German  authoresses  as 
they  were  about  1875  *s  E.  Marlitt  (her  real 
name  is  Eugenie  John),  who  illustrates  better 
than  she  explains  the  prodigious  popularity  of 
a  fiction  which  combined  graceful  entertainment 
with  easy  moralizings,  and  managed  to  win 
applause  from  the  liberals  without  forfeiting  the 
approval  of  the  conservatives.  Golctelse,  Reichs- 
gr'dfin  Gz'se/a,  Im  Hause  des  Kommerzienrats, 
Das  Geheimnis  der  alien  Mamsell,  Die  zweite 
Frau,  Das  Heideprinzeflchen^  and  the  other  nov- 
els which  have  helped  us  to  while  away  many 
and  many  a  dreary  hour  under  the  unsuspecting 
eye  of  a  drowsy  teacher,  are  not  without  many 
prettinesses.  Marlitt  may  justly  be  called  an 
"accomplished  "  writer.  She  possesses  the  gift  of 
narrative  glib  and  voluble;  her  morals  are  de- 
lightful ;  she  has  a  knack  for  the  ready  and  seem- 
ingly natural  solution  of  unsolvable  problems; 
and,  best  of  all,  she  never  forgets  her  manners. 

1  The  English  titles  given  these  books  by  Mrs.  C.  Wister  are : 
"  Gold  Elsie,"  "  Countess  Gisela,"  "At  the  Councilor's,"  "  The  Old 
Mam'selle's  Secret,"  "  The  Second  Wife,"  "  The  Little  Moorland 
Princess." 


256  MODERN  GERMAN   LITERATURE 

But  even  the  naively  admiring  eyes  of  the  vora- 
cious novel-reader  cannot  long  remain  shut 
against  certain  defects  of  Marlitt,  though  these 
may  seem  to  him  mere  specks  of  imperfection. 
There  is  in  her  stories  an  engine-turned  uniform- 
ity of  plot  and  an  unnecessarily  harsh  prejudice 
against  common  sense.  The  reason  is  not  far  to 
seek.  Common  sense,  were  it  not  resolutely  sup- 
pressed as  a  factor  in  her  plots,  might  make  itself 
disagreeable  by  standing  in  the  way  of  the  all-is- 
well  conclusion  required  by  an  exacting  public. 
It  is,  accordingly,  treated  as  a  negligible  quan- 
tity, and  the  director-generalship  of  human  affairs 
in  Marlitt's  novels  devolves  upon  the  generous 
promptings  of  the  human  heart.  Chief  aid-de- 
camp to  the  noble  heart  is  the  irresistible 
attractiveness  of  all  good  people.  Whereas  in 
life  victories  are  usually  won  through  powerful 
exertion  or  strong-willed  self-denial,  in  Marlitt 
the  spring  of  personal  magnetism  is  touched,  the 
good  heart  does  the  rest,  and  stern  truth  may 
whistle  for  it.  This  successful  method  could  not 
long  remain  Marlitt's  secret.  Once  discovered, 
it  was  caught  up  by  a  swarm  of  busy  imitators 
who  learned  the  trick  though  they  missed  the 
grace,  and  to  this  day  their  widely  ramified 


WOMEN  WRITERS  257 

sorority  flourishes  in  all  parts  of  the  globe.  But 
lest  we  be  diverted  too  long  from  our  subject, 
which  is,  after  all,  a  literary  one,  let  us  dismiss 
the  host  of  Marlitt's  satellites  with  brevity.  It 
is  but  fair,  however,  not  to  make  this  jejune  and 
time-serving  class  too  inclusive.  E.  Werner,  for 
instance,  deserves  to  be  excepted.  She  adopted 
in  a  general  way  Marlitt's  method  of  dyeing  in 
fine  colors.  But  as  a  writer  she  eventually  sur- 
passed her  model,  thanks  to  a  greater  breadth 
of  horizon,  warmth  of  conviction,  and  a  certain 
trenchant  critical  faculty.  Instead  of  limiting 
herself  to  the  conventional  assortment  of  heroes, 
she  showed  a  kindly  attachment  for  misfit  indi- 
viduals; this  even  betrayed  her  occasionally  into 
representing  an  unmitigated  crank  as  a  hero. 
One  might  easily  mention  a  number  of  other 
popular  women  novelists  of  the  past  generation 
who,  like  Werner,  can  lay  claim  to  a  high  degree 
of  skill  and,  without  being  in  any  sense  great 
writers,  wield  a  good  and  steady  pen  at  the  busi- 
ness. To  name  only  a  few,  a  commendable  brisk- 
ness of  style  marks  the  stories  of  Golo  Raimund, 
Egon  Pels,  Emmy  von  Dincklage,  and  Claire 
von  Gliimer.  Still  more  independently  gifted  are 
Sophie  Junghans  and  Emilie  Junker. 


258  MODERN  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

To  none  of  these  authors  of  the  seventies,  how- 
ever, but  perhaps  to  Luise  von  Fran9ois,  belongs 
the  distinction  of  having  contributed  to  the  per- 
manent fund  of  literature  the  first  book  of  last- 
ing worth.  Die  letzte  Reckenburgerin  ("  The  Last 
Lady  of  Reckenburg")  presents  with  surprising 
realism  a  picture  of  patriarchal  existence  at 
the  end  of  the  eighteenth  and  the  beginning 
of  the  nineteenth  century.  Despite  its  main 
shortcomings,  which  consist  in  a  tendency  to 
preach  in  season  and  out  of  season  and  the  want 
of  outlook  so  common  in  feminine  fiction,  Die 
letzte  Reckenburgerin  must  be  assigned  a  high 
place  among  German  novels,  not  only  by  com- 
parison with  the  average,  but  on  account  of  its 
own  unmistakable  merit.  It  is  the  product  of  a 
penetrating,  energetic,  yet  gentle  and  forgiving 
mind. 

From  now  on  women  writers  of  real  worth 
become  much  less  rare. 

An  intellect  of  the  same  noble  type  as  Fran- 
gois'  is  revealed  in  the  literary  personality  of 
Malwida  von  Meysenbug,  whose  three  volumes 
of  memoirs  are  replete  with  deepest  human  inter- 
est, since  they  are  the  record  of  a  human  soul 
that  has  ever  aligned  itself  on  the  spiritual  side 


WOMEN  WRITERS  259 

of  life  and  has  been  very  close  to  such  eminent 
men  of  the  age  as  Richard  Wagner  and  Fried- 
rich  Nietzsche.  Meysenbug  and  Fra^ois  belong 
to  a  group  of  authoresses  who  are  deeply  intel- 
lectual and  who  yet  show  themselves  independ- 
ent of  the  "cause,"  because  to  them  the  sole 
object  worth  striving  for  and  the  one  on  which 
they  have  steadily  fixed  their  gaze,  is  the  fuller 
development  of  the  idealistic  side  of  human 
nature. 

A  like  educational  aim,  ever  consistently  ideal- 
istic, inspires  the  work  of  Marie  von  Ebner- 
Eschenbach,  who,  now  in  her  seventy-fifth  year, 
belongs  on  the  whole  to  the  older  literary  school, 
but  has  in  some  ways  exercised  great  influence  over 
the  present  generation  of  authoresses.  She  enjoyed 
a  rather  modest  renown  before  the  arrival  of  the 
new  era,  but  once  the  amiable  superficiality  of 
Marlitt  had  begun  to  pall,  Ebner-Eschenbach's 
depth  of  feeling  was  hailed  as  a  welcome  relief. 
She  is  now  looked  upon  by  some  critics  as  the 
foremost  novelist  of  Germany,  and  by  general 
consent  is  recognized  as  one  of  the  best  short- 
story  writers  in  the  world. 

Marlitt  and  her  followers  derived  much  public 
approbation  from  their  "  idealism."  Marie  von 


260  MODERN   GERMAN   LITERATURE 

Ebner-Eschenbach  is  an  idealist  of  a  much  more 
substantial  sort.  She  is  deeply  in  earnest  and  per- 
mits herself  no  dalliance  in  philosophical  prob- 
lems that  are  beyond  her  depth.  A  rare  gift  of 
self-criticism  is  coupled  in  her  with  a  freedom 
from  prejudice  that  is  almost  startling  in  a  mem- 
ber of  the  high  aristocracy.1  Inborn  goodness 
and  the  large-mindedness  bred  of  wisdom  are 
the  chief  elements  in  the  thinking  and  forgiv- 
ing morality  of  her  works.  In  her  stories  each 
individual  is  permitted  to  struggle  in  his  own 
unhackneyed  way  with  the  problems  that  beset 
the  path  of  life,  but  the  course  of  fate  is  not 
deflected  by  any  silly  shrinking  from  an  unhappy 
ending.  The  guiding  hand  of  the  authoress 
shows  only  in  that  the  outcome  invariably  vin- 
dicates the  higher  ethics.  That  is  because  she 
herself  stands  unswervingly  for  the  Hellenic  and 
Goethean  ideal  of  Sophrosyne.  This  philosophic 
temperance  explains  the  full  meaning  of  her 
trivial-sounding  motto : '  Gutsein  ist  Gliick.  Such 
high  personal  qualities  are  only  too  apt  to  put 
the  critic  off  his  guard  when  it  comes  to  judging 
the  artist  in  the  superior  woman.  It  is  at  this 
point  that  many  a  thinking  reader  will  feel 

1  By  birth  she  is  an  Austrian  countess. 


WOMEN  WRITERS  261 

constrained  to  part  company  with  the  chorus  of 
eulogists.  He  will  not  deny  at  all  that  Ebner's 
writings  mirror,  as  has  been  aptly  said,  "  the  con- 
science of  a  priestess  and  the  heart  of  a  mother." 
But  he  will  often  miss  the  distinctive  art  note. 
Ebner's  composition  is  apt  to  be  crude  or  labored ; 
her  diction  is  refractory;  in  nearly  every  story 
a  didactic  elevation  of  the  voice  disturbs  the  har- 
mony; and  as  for  her  realism,  it  is  wholesome 
and  unstudied,  but  touched  up  too  highly  with 
romantic  tints  to  be  convincing.  Yet  she  may 
claim  for  her  eclecticism  as  much  of  truth  as  is 
obtained  by  the  "naturalists,"  for  her  endeavor, 
so  she  tells  us,  is  to  reproduce  convincingly  what 
she  alone  has  seen :  "  a  noble  feature  in  the 
face  of  the  outcast,  or  a  flash  of  genius  in  the  dul- 
lard's eye."  Marie  von  Ebner-Eschenbach,  to  be 
a  writer  of  the  first  order,  lacks  two  essentials :  a 
deeper  sense  of  beauty  and  greater  possibilities 
of  temperament.  But  taken  all  in  all,  she  is  an 
eminent  literary  character  with  a  forcible  and 
steadfast  individuality  of  her  own. 

Frangois,  Ebner-Eschenbach,  and  Meysenbug, 
although  their  writings  derive  their  value  in 
part  from  their  pedagogical  message,  do  not  pay 
any  particular  attention  to  the  woman  movement, 


262  MODERN  GERMAN   LITERATURE 

which,  as  we  saw,  stirred  so  many  minds  to  their 
depths  towards  the  middle  of  the  century  and, 
after  ebbing  away  in  the  sands  of  the  later 
amusement  fiction,  was  to  leap  forth  with  fierce 
vigor  in  the  feminine  writings  of  our  own  day. 
The  lives  and  works  of  these  authoresses  reflect 
the  waning  light  of  a  day  aglow  with  the  rich 
and  mellow  culture  of  the  Goethean  age.  In 
connection  with  them  should  be  mentioned  Car- 
men Sylva,  the  Queen  of  Rumania.  She  com- 
bines the  mature  temperance  of  Eschenbach  and 
Meysenbug  with  the  greater  intensity  of  the  mod- 
ern school.  To  a  greater  extent  even  than  Marie 
von  Ebner  she  is  a  reflective  writer.  Follow- 
ing W.  Jordan's  example,  she  boldly  makes  the 
modern  scientific  theory  of  the  world  the  intel- 
lectual content  of  her  work.  As  the  result  of 
earnest  study  of  social  and  religious  problems 
her  stanch  but  by  no  means  uncritical  optimism 
stands  on  the  lofty  level  of  an  ardent  faith  in 
natural  evolution. 

Having,  after  this  hurried  retrospect,  now 
reached  the  threshold  of  the  present  era,  we  next 
pass  on  to  a  group  of  younger  writers,  real  tran- 
sition types  that  usher  in  a  rather  hysterical 
cultus  of  art  and  the  artist. 


WOMEN   WRITERS  263 

Ada  Christen,  Ossip  Schubin,  and  Maria  Janit- 
schek  are  all  three  Austrians,  but  though  not 
untinged  with  the  easy-going,  sanguine  tempera- 
ment of  the  modern  Phaeaces,  their  conception 
of  life,  on  the  whole,  is  dismal  enough  to  suit 
the  most  stringent  pessimist.  This  fundamental 
dolefulness  sounds  most  genuine  in  Ada  Chris- 
ten, the  oldest  of  the  trio.  Of  the  same  age  with 
Carmen  Sylva,  she  is  grouped  with  younger 
writers  because  she  has  even  more  in  common 
with  them  than  the  Queen  of  Rumania.  Her 
impassioned  verses  in  many  respects  remind  one 
strongly  of  Betty  Paoli,  save  that  Christen's  self- 
revelation  is  much  more  thoroughgoing:  her 
poems  conceal  and  disguise  nothing.  It  is  a 
far  cry  from  the  unreserved  candor  of  her  Lie- 
der  einer  Verlorenen  to  the  pathological  "  exhi- 
bitionism "  of  Marie  Madeleine's  Auf  Kypros 
and  the  lyric  confessions  of  Else  Galen-Gube. 
And  yet,  for  good  or  for  evil,  Ada  Christen  first 
broke  the  seven  sacred  seals  and  bared  undi- 
vulged  feminine  secrets.  This  unrestricted  sub- 
jectivity is,  however,  not  the  only  quality  which 
puts  her  in  a  class  with  the  "  moderns " ;  she 
belongs  there  likewise  by  her  harrowing  natural- 
ism in  depicting  the  proletarian  milieu.  This  is 


264  MODERN  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

true  both  of  her  verses  and  her  stories.  Never- 
theless, the  famous  Viennese  humor  does  not 
fail  her,  and  some  of  her  homely  good-natured 
stories  of  Viennese  life  are  veritable  cabinet 
pieces ;  for  example,  Echte  Wiener  ("  True  Chil- 
dren of  Vienna"),  the  story  of  Waltz  King 
Strauss'  boyish  infatuation  for  the  mother  of  the 
authoress.  Ada  Christen  fully  appreciates  the 
quick  and  lively  freshness  of  Viennese  life,  yet 
she  grasps  the  fact  that  at  the  root  of  its  artistic 
laissez  faire  there  lies  the  shallow  self-indulgence 
of  the  philistine.  And  in  some  of  her  gloom- 
steeped  stories  she  shows  how  the  native  joyous- 
ness  of  such  people  is  overspread  by  darkening 
sorrow  and  finally  put  out  by  despair. 

The  earliest  specimens  of  the  work  of  Ossip 
Schubin  (Lola  Kirschner)  were  full  with  the 
promise  of  great  things.  They  gave  evidence 
of  a  strong  though  undisciplined  native  talent, 
uncommon  dash,  a  quick  power  of  observation, 
and  showed  a  keen  knowledge  of  two  opposite 
worlds,  high  life  and  the  peasantry,  truly  aston- 
ishing in  a  youthful  person  and  an  outsider  to 
both.  Ossip  Schubin  made  her  literary  debut 
at  sixteen,  and  set  out  on  her  career  with  the 
cheering  approval  of  George  Sand  and  Ivan 


WOMEN  WRITERS  265 

Turgenieff.  But  as  time  went  on  and  popu- 
larity gave  her  assurance,  she  seemed  to  neglect 
her  further  artistic  education.  At  any  rate  she 
has  yet  to  make  good  her  extraordinary  promise. 
Her  present  style  of  writing  is  calculated  to 
strengthen  rather  than  disarm  the  suspicion  that 
Ossip  Schubin  bears  some  unfortunate  affinity 
to  Hahn-Hahn.  Not  alone  in  her  controlling 
weakness  for  international  high  life;  for  she  is, 
besides,  self-conscious  and  given  to  mannerisms 
—  take  the  polyglot  titles  of  her  books  —  and 
sensational  effects.  With  the  naturalist  tenden- 
cies she  is,  on  the  whole,  out  of  touch,  although 
at  the  outset  of  her  career  she  showed  a  strong 
leaning  towards  realism;  and  although  herself 
quite  outspoken  in  dealing  with  those  subjects 
which  were  formerly  tabooed  in  feminine  fiction, 
she  has  no  patience  with  the  extent  to  which 
the  ruling  freedom  of  speech  is  made  use  of  by 
the  latest  generation  of  women  writers. 

This  brings  me  to  a  feature  of  the  new  femi- 
nine fiction  which  even  here  cannot  go  wholly 
unmentioned.  The  quality  for  which  above  all 
others  the  German  reader  was  once  accustomed 
to  look  in  the  works  of  women,  namely,  that 
maidenly  modesty  which  for  sweet  souls  like 


266  MODERN  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

Ottilie  Wildermuth  and  the  enterprising  Elise 
Polko  still  proves  such  a  sure  pathfinder  to  the 
Christmas  tree  of  the  boarding-school  miss,  is  no 
longer  characteristic  of  the  authoress.  Extremes 
often  meet.  Our  women  novelists  were  at  one 
time  squeamish.  They  are  now  frank  beyond 
the  frankness  of  Amelie  Rives-Chanler  and  Ella 
Wheeler  Wilcox,  frank  to  the  very  limits  of 
brutality,  nay,  even  to  the  extent  of  sometimes 
overstepping  them. 

The  serious  student  of  literature  must  not  be 
prudish.  But  though  callous  to  those  transgres- 
sions which  bring  down  upon  many  excellent 
books  the  condemnation  of  our  public  librarians, 
even  he  will  be  nonplused  by  the  unbridled  can- 
dor of  Maria  Janitschek.  He  will  shrink  from  it 
only  the  more  because  it  struts  along  in  pon- 
tifical robes.  Maria  Janitschek  came  into  prom- 
inent notice  in  the  early  eighties  of  the  past 
century  as  one  of  the  first  exponents  of  "mod- 
ernism." Her  chief  characteristic  is  an  emotion- 
alism strangely  mixed  of  "  mud  and  fire."  On  the 
one  hand,  she  revels  in  erotic  problems  of  the 
most  risque  sort,  dealing  with  them  in  a  manner 
of  the  earth  earthy.  On  the  other  hand,  she  is  a 
fanatical  votary  of  symbolism,  with  a  passion  for 


WOMEN  WRITERS  267 

all  that  is  abstruse.  Like  very  many  modern  Ger- 
man writers,  she  is  also  a  priestess  of  the  greatest 
mystification  of  the  nineteenth  century,  the  Uber- 
mensch-w\.t  established  by  Friedrich  Nietzsche. 

The  number  of  Schubin's  and  Janitschek's 
satellites  is  legion.  Their  names,  however,  are 
hardly  ever  heard  out  of  Germany,  except  pos- 
sibly that  of  Hermione  von  Preuschen,  who  may 
be  known  in  this  country,  at  least  as  a  painter, 
for  her  "  Mors  Imperator "  was  a  conspicuous 
exhibit  in  the  Woman's  Building  at  the  Col- 
umbian Fair  in  Chicago.  Her  writings  are  as 
coquettishly  mystical  as  her  pictures. 

The  foregoing  synopsis,  aiming  only  at  a  sug- 
gestive and  helpful  classification,  has  assumed 
that  a  modicum  of  familiarity  with  a  few  of  the 
more  conspicuous  writers  who  served  as  illus- 
trative examples  could  be  taken  for  granted. 
Many  of  their  works  are  accessible  in  English 
translations.  But  now  that  the  critic  is  at  last 
led  into  the  company  of  the  German  woman  of 
letters  of  to-day,  the  widespread  though  unpar- 
donable American  ignorance  of  contemporary 
German  literature  confronts  him  as  a  serious 
difficulty;  an  ignorance  which  is  doubly  deplor- 
able on  its  own  account  and  on  account  of  its 


268  MODERN  GERMAN   LITERATURE 

causes.  This  expression  of  regret  does  not  imply 
that  it  is  worth  while  for  any  one  in  these  busy 
days  to  try  to  keep  up  with  the  entire  literary 
production  of  two  continents,  with  the  British 
Isles  thrown  in.  But  a  legitimate  human  inter- 
est attaches  to  whatever  part  of  modern  fiction 
is  actually  conjured  up  by  the  living  forces  of 
our  time;  especially  to  so  much  of  it  as  reveals 
the  passing  attitude  of  one  generation  of  men 
towards  the  basic  principle  of  society,  —  the  uni- 
versal moral  law.  Whatever  may  otherwise  be 
urged  against  the  new  novels  and  plays  of  con- 
tinental Europe,  it  must  be  admitted  that  they 
have  justified  their  claims  on  human  sympathy 
by  an  astoundingly  close  touch  with  all  sides 
of  life.  There  is  every  reason  in  the  world  why 
the  literature  of  to-day  should  reflect  a  greater 
wealth  of  experience  and  contain  a  fuller  register 
of  ideas  than  that  of  any  former  period,  even 
though  literature  has  been  unable  to  keep  step 
with  the  miraculous  expansion  of  the  practical 
activities.  Indeed,  when  viewed  from  the  culture- 
historic  standpoint,  the  work  of  living  German 
authoresses  is  thoroughly  worthy  of  attention. 
However,  there  are  very  few  subjects  on  which 
even  the  American  woman,  superior  as  she  is 


WOMEN   WRITERS  269 

to  her  male  compatriot  in  literary  as  well  as  in 
general  culture,  is  so  densely  ignorant.  The 
reasons  are  not  far  to  seek.  Notwithstanding 
her  ample  educational  advantages,  the  Amer- 
ican woman,  as  a  rule,  is  a  poor  linguist.  To 
enjoy  a  book  or  a  play  in  the  original,  one  must 
at  least  be  beyond  the  need  of  continual  refer- 
ence to  the  dictionary.  Yet  there  are  many 
otherwise  well-educated  American  women,  per- 
haps just  out  of  college  to-day,  who  are  unable 
to  make  out  a  fairly  simple  German  or  French 
text.  This  is  to  be  lamented,  even  though  the 
assertion  of  a  living  French  critic,  that  to  de- 
clare oneself  unable  to  read  German  is  to  confess 
oneself  at  least  twenty  years  behind  the  times 
in  knowledge,  is  undoubtedly  an  exaggeration. 
Persons  unfamiliar  with  German  or  French  are 
very  likely  to  invoke  by  way  of  excuse  the  whim- 
sical saying  of  Emerson,  that  he  would  as  soon 
swim  across  the  Charles  River  to  get  to  Boston, 
instead  of  crossing  the  bridge,  as  he  would  read 
a  foreign  original  when  he  could  obtain  a  trans- 
lation. It  may  be  said,  in  reply  to  the  Concord 
sage,  that  it  pays  to  learn  swimming,  even  apart 
from  the  healthful  excitement  of  the  exercise. 
For  there  are  some  very  wide  rivers  that  are 


270  MODERN  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

spanned  by  too  few  bridges.  Such  an  one  is 
German  literature.  Now,  it  may  be  asked,  how 
does  it  come  that  so  few  specimens  of  German 
"  modernism  "  are  made  accessible  to  us  through 
translation?  Possibly  the  explanation  lies  in  the 
nonconformity  of  these  audacious  Germans  to 
our  tacit  exaction  that  foreign  writers  should  pay 
court  to  our  jejunely  nice,  scrupulously  conven- 
tionalized literary  taste. 

The  most  potent  influence  that  is  at  work  in 
the  German  literature  of  to-day  partakes  of  the 
nature  of  a  grimly  resolute  striving  for  the  fullest 
individual  freedom.  The  effect  of  the  new  rebel- 
lion sown  by  the  daring  genius  of  Nietzsche  is 
clearly  manifest  in  the  turn  taken  by  the  plea, 
in  fiction,  for  the  woman  cause.  The  rights  of 
personality,  which  were  formerly  subordinated  to 
considerations  of  the  general  welfare,  are  now 
loudly  emphasized.  The  leading  women  eman- 
cipators of  to-day  extol  the  "  creative  "  life  above 
the  life  sanctioned  by  social  agreement,  and  do 
not  question  the  right  of  the  individual  to  break 
through  the  accepted  moral  formulas.  They 
utterly  reject  the  gospel  of  patience,  which 
women  love  so  much  to  observe  and  still  more 
to  preach,  And  while  the  old  accusations  of 


WOMEN  WRITERS  271 

tyranny  are  still  hurled  against  the  ruling  sex 
with  the  undiminished  vigor  of  old,  not  a  little 
criticism,  intemperate  and  sometimes  savage,  is 
directed  against  the  meek  and  stolid  submis- 
siveness  of  the  women  themselves.  There  is  a 
degree  of  danger  in  this  fanatical  agitation  for 
unchecked  liberty,  and  it  cannot  be  denied  that 
such  teaching  may  prove  fatal  to  a  few  unsteady 
heads.  There  are  two  ways  of  dealing  with  such 
a  situation.  In  this  country,  where  literary  fash- 
ions bow  to  the  dictate  of  public  opinion,  we 
choose  to  suppress  the  dangerous  doctrine  by 
smothering  its  utterance  in  fine  indignation.  In 
Germany,  on  the  other  hand,  the  fullest  discus- 
sion of  heterodoxy  is  freely  tolerated.  The  Ger- 
mans realize  that  progress  in  culture  can  only 
spring  from  a  soil  constantly  plowed  up  by 
controversy. 

It  seems  to  me,  then,  that  we  are  committing 
a  grievous  error  in  denying  a  hearing  to  what 
the  most  capable  women  of  Germany  have  to 
say  on  a  subject  which  to  them  is  of  the  great- 
est moment,  even  though  we  may  feel  that  their 
zeal  is  greater  than  their  insight.  After  all,  the 
heroes  and  heroines  of  recent  German  fiction, 
for  whom  ruthless  self-affirmation  is  claimed  as 


272  MODERN  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

a  special  prerogative,  are  not  of  the  common 
run  of  people,  but  of  a  class  scarcely  extant 
amongst  us ;  they  are  nearly  always  artists.  And 
surely  we  need  have  little  apprehension  lest  our 
own  types  of  the  overman,  the  trust  magnate 
and  the  political  boss,  catch  the  infection  and 
apply  their  overgrown  sense  of  individuality  to 
a  sphere  other  than  the  material.  Candidly,  so 
long  as  we  admit  to  our  homes  the  "  yellow " 
daily,  it  is  hypocrisy  on  our  part  to  proscribe 
any  seriously  meant  book  or  class  of  books  in 
the  name  of  public  morals. 

The  literary  era  that  dates  from  the  early  eigh- 
ties of  the  past  century  and  is  commonly  called 
"  Youngest  Germany  "  has  been  more  fruitful  of 
good  than  of  evil.  Whatever  may  be  our  judg- 
ment as  regards  its  ethical  merits,  it  has  brought 
us  a  most  gratifying  progress  in  all  technical 
respects.  Though  the  successors  of  Marlitt  in 
and  out  of  the  Gartenlaube  still  jog  along  im- 
perturbably  in  the  old  ruts  —  St.  Keyser,  W. 
Heimburg,  D.  von  Spattgen,  F.  Kapff-Essenther, 
H.  Schobert,  e  tutte  quante, — yet  even  their  banal 
plots  with  their  never-failing  happy  denouement 
have  profited  by  the  modern  example.  As  for 
the  writers  of  the  new  school,  any  fair-minded 


WOMEN  WRITERS  273 

person  must  admire  in  them  a  great  strength  of 
purpose  and  power  of  observation,  a  wider  range 
of  sentiment  and  opinion  and  a  more  piercing 
artistic  vision  than  were  given  their  predeces- 
sors. And  while  the  modern  woman  of  letters 
might  perhaps  resent  this  congratulation,  there 
is  cause  for  rejoicing  in  the  fact  that  the  gratify- 
ing literary  improvement  has  gone  hand  in  hand 
with  the  steady  enlargement  of  woman's  sphere 
and  opportunities. 

In  unabated  agitation  of  the  woman  cause,  Ga- 
briele  Reuter  and  Helene  Bbhlau  stand  preemi- 
nent. Both  strike  out  boldly  for  a  fuller  liberty, 
but  they  also  seek  to  deepen  the  sense  of  woman 
towards  her  new  obligations.  Reuter's  famous 
novel,  Aus  guter  Familie  ("  Well  Bred  "),  pleads 
in  spirited  fashion  against  coercion  in  every  form 
whatsoever ;  by  insinuation,  the  authoress  includes 
marriage,  an  institution  devised  by  the  despotism 
of  man  and  acquiesced  in  by  the  slavish  cowardice 
of  woman.  The  slender  thread  on  which  Gabriele 
Reuter  strings  her  moralizings  is  the  tragic  story 
of  Agathe  Heidling,  the  daughter  of  an  official. 
Like  all  girls  of  her  class,  she  is  brought  up  pri- 
marily to  marry;  failing  to  do  this,  she  settles, 
after  a  brief  rebellion,  into  a  purposeless  life  at 


274  MODERN  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

the  cost  of  her  true  personality,  and,  finally,  of 
her  reason.  Incontestably,  this  book,  of  which 
the  lesson  is  self-evident,  has  proved  a  powerful 
lever  in  the  hands  of  the  radical  advocates  of 
social  reform.  Its  plea,  as  is  the  custom  with 
such  books,  gained  the  day  not  so  much  by  the 
persuasiveness  of  the  argument  as  by  virtue  of  its 
glittering  eloquence.  Few  "  novels  of  purpose," 
it  should  be  borne  in  mind,  do  make  their  way 
by  means  of  intrinsic  worth ;  most  derive  success 
from  vociferation. 

Helene  Bohlau  is  no  less  emphatic  than  Ga- 
briele  Reuter,  but  very  much  more  forcible.  She, 
too,  enjoys  writing  "at  the  top  of  her  lungs"; 
yet  even  though  she  has  not  held  aloof  from 
sensational  exaggerations,  —  notably  in  Das  Recht 
der  Mutter  ("  The  Mother's  Right ")  and  in  Halb- 
tier  ("  Half  Beast "),  —  she  is  the  greater  artist  of 
the  two.  Two  entirely  different  groups  of  novels 
have  come  from  her  pen.  The  earlier  ones,  incited 
by  a  close  touch  with  Goethean  culture  —  Helene 
Bohlau  grew  up  in  Weimar  —  radiate  a  sunny 
humor,  but  bear  not  at  all  on  vital  issues.  Later 
on,  Nietzsche  supersedes  Goethe  as  Bohlau's  lode- 
star. Henceforth  she  extols  the  new,  intoxicating 
passion  of  life  that  makes  a  demigod  of  him  who 


WOMEN  WRITERS  275 

will  desert  beaten  paths  and,  with  a  new-won 
consciousness,  gain  the  power  of  wresting  joy 
from  each  phenomenon  as  it  reveals  itself  anew. 
This  sovereign  power,  to  Nietzsche  and  his  dis- 
ciples, is  the  sublimated  life  which  alone  is  worth 
living.  An  almost  sacred  wrath  against  the  meager 
contentment  of  the  female  philistine  as  well  as 
against  the  rapacity  of  her  male  tyrant  burns 
in  Bohlau's  intemperate  harangues.  Forever  she 
harps  the  plaint  of  Iphigenie  in  Tauris :  Der 
Frauen  Zustand  ist  beklagenswert.  In  Adam 
und  Eva  or  Halbtier  she  maintains  that  woman 
such  as  she  has  become  through  the  enforced 
disuse  of  her  spiritual  faculties  is  not  yet  a  com- 
pleted human  being.  This  shows  itself,  among 
other  ways,  in  her  pitiable  impotence  when 
brought  face  to  face  with  adversity.  "  If  a  beast 
were  hunted  as  woman  has  been,  it  would  de- 
velop a  weapon  —  a  horn  perchance,  or  a  venom- 
ous tooth.  Not  so  woman.  She  has  only  grown 
tamer  and  tamer,  disgustingly  tame,  and  has  be- 
come in  the  veriest  sense  a  beast  of  burden.  Her 
direst  wants  have  been  neglected.  If  she  has 
obtained  a  small  part  of  her  rightful  inheritance, 
she  has  done  so  with  the  cunning  of  a  famished 
beast  —  by  stealth  and  subterfuge."  Every  blow 


276  MODERN  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

prostrates  her,  leaving  her  unsustained  by  the 
consolations  of  the  mind.  Woman,  according  to 
Bohlau,  is  a  human  body  which  passes  through 
life  entirely  unspiritualized.  And  that  half  of 
mankind  which  they  call  the  gentler  or  weaker 
sex  is,  in  truth,  the  robust,  the  coarsely  material- 
istic, inimical  perforce  to  all  that  is  lofty  or  subtle 
in  our  existence. 

Fortunately  for  woman,  so  Bohlau  holds,  her 
relentless  persecutor,  man,  is  singularly  nai've  in 
his  judgment  and  not  at  all  hard  to  suit.  All 
that  he  expects  of  her  is  that  she  should  make 
herself  as  nearly  as  possible  like  the  ladies  he 
admires  on  the  front  cover  of  the  German  family 
magazines.  But  the  strong-minded  Helene  Boh- 
lau scorns  and  hates  the  easily  pleased  despot 
and  marks  him  with  a  fiery  cross,  by  way  of  a 
warning  to  the  sisterhood. 

Aside  perhaps  from  her  faith  in  the  possibili- 
ties of  womankind,  Helene  Bohlau  is  a  thorough- 
going disciple  of  Nietzsche.  As  such  she  sets  her 
face  against  the  prevailing  mope-eyed  conception 
of  human  destiny  which  takes  the  form  of  either 
complacent  optimism  or  indolent  pessimism.  To 
her  way  of  thinking,  the  culmination  of  the  fuller 
life  lies  in  its  supreme  moments,  be  they  moments 


WOMEN  WRITERS  277 

of  achievement  or  defeat.  George  Eliot  once  ex- 
presses a  similar  sentiment  when,  in  The  Mill  on 
the  Floss,  she  says  of  the  heroine  as  she  nears 
the  climax  of  her  fate :  "  Even  the  coming  pain 
could  not  seem  bitter  —  she  was  ready  to  wel- 
come it  as  a  part  of  life,  for  life  at  this  moment 
seemed  a  keen,  vibrating  consciousness  poised 
above  pleasure  or  pain."  And  Ricarda  Huch,  in  a 
poem,  says  to  Life:  Denn  du  bist  sufi  in  deinen 
Bitternissen.  It  is  a  maxim  with  Bohlau  that 
every  true  personality  contains  the  possibilities 
of  a  self-determination  that  should  bring  either 
crowning  success  or  destruction,  should  lead 
either  to  unmingled  happiness  or  —  to  pure  un- 
happiness. 
But  — 

Every  deed  of  ours,  no  less  than  every  sorrow, 
Impedes  the  onward  march  of  life. 
Some  alien  substance  more  and  more  is  cleaving 
To  all  the  mind  conceives  of  grand  and  fair.1 

In  the  humdrum  grind  of  our  daily  existence, 
which  is  bound  sooner  or  later  to  shatter  the 
exceptional  individuality,  the  human  tragedy  is 
adulterated. 

1  Goethe,  Faust,  translation  by  Bayard  Taylor. 


278  MODERN  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

It  will  be  noted  that  the  writings  of  Helene 
Bohlau,  although  she  is  a  realist  as  regards  the 
striking  reproduction  of  the  milieu,  are  steeped 
in  the  azure  of  idealism.  Naturally  enough  she 
takes  by  preference  artists  for  her  heroes  and, 
like  a  majority  of  the  novelists  of  to-day,  seeks 
her  models  in  the  "Athens  on  the  Isar,"  the  center 
of  the  "  new  art,"  Munich.  This  is  true  both  of 
Halbtier  and  of  her  most  important  book,  Der 
Rangierbahnhof  ("  The  Switching  Station  "),  cer- 
tainly one  of  the  greatest  novels  of  recent  times. 
The  plot  of  this  story,  again,  is  made  to  subserve 
the  writer's  ethical  creed.  Its  central  figure,  Oily, 
burns  up  with  an  inner  fire  which  she  cannot  com- 
municate to  the  surrounding  world.  Her  family, 
including  a  well-meaning  but  commonplace  and 
selfish  husband,  cannot  understand  her,  and  her 
inner  self  is,  as  it  were,  placed  on  an  insulating 
stool ;  but  at  the  last,  when  her  wasted  young  life 
is  fast  slipping  away,  the  companion  soul  of  the 
great  artist  friend  stands  revealed  before  her  and 
she  dies  contented.  The  resemblance  of  this 
story  to  that  of  Marie  Bashkirtseff  and  Bastien- 
Lepage  is  unmistakable.  Yet  "  The  Switching 
Station,"  as  may  be  inferred  from  the  very  title, 
should  in  the  main  be  understood  symbolically. 


WOMEN  WRITERS  279 

Many  of  our  stanchest  realists  are  to  be  found 
in  the  downright  symbolist  school.  Strange  as 
this  fact  may  seem,  there  is  assuredly  nothing 
contrary  either  to  nature  or  to  art  in  a  method 
whereby  the  externals  are  seized  for  the  present- 
ment of  the  larger  truth.  But  symbolism  somehow 
carries  within  it  the  germ  of  exaggeration.  Even 
Ibsen,  the  master  in  combining  the  two  methods, 
succumbs  occasionally  to  the  danger,  and  falls 
into  an  excessive  symbolism,  as,  for  instance,  in 
"  When  We  Dead  Awake,"  where  the  principal 
characters  are  little  more  than  allegories  mounted 
on  human  legs.  It  is  on  these  same  shoals,  too, 
that  Bohlau's  imposing  art  is  more  than  once  seen 
to  founder. 

Then,  too,  her  artistic  equipoise  is  disturbed 
by  her  strong  desire  to  retaliate  upon  the  enemy 
of  her  sex.  Barring  a  few  rather  freakish  over- 
men, all  specimens  of  the  masculine  gender  that 
appear  in  her  late  novels  are  either  hopeless 
reprobates  or  invertebrate  ninnies.  The  iniquity 
of  man  is  concededly  great  and  his  villainy  deep- 
dyed  ;  when  overdrawn  by  a  feminist  they  border 
on  the  grotesque. 

It  may  be  pertinent  in  this  place  to  call  atten- 
tion to  a  significant  change  wrought  out  in  these 


280  MODERN  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

days :  the  feminine  literature  of  to-day  is  an 
integral  factor  in  the  general  intellectual  life; 
it  consequently  shares  in  the  literary  evolution. 
Recent  German  fiction  has  emerged  from  the 
era  of  uncompromising  realism  with  a  zest  for 
psychological  inquiry,  and  in  the  natural  order 
of  things  women  become  more  deeply  inquisitive 
about  themselves.  At  the  same  time  they  real- 
ize more  fully  than  before  their  special  gift  and 
superior  aptitude  for  detailed  observation,  and  to 
their  minute  and  honest  account  of  themselves 
we  owe  an  enlarged  knowledge  of  woman's  char- 
acter.1 But  in  the  reformatory  zeal  which  impels 
our  women  writers  to  redress  the  wrongs  of  their 
sex,  the  great  human  problems  under  discussion 
do  not  receive  sober  study,  and  so  we  find  that 
even  a  writer  of  Helene  Bohlau's  stature  seems 
shut  out  from  the  loftier  outlook  from  which  the 
true  poet  views  the  eternal  pantomime. 

At  the  present  moment  the  most  conspicuous 
German  authoress  is  undoubtedly  Clara  Viebig. 
She  is  the  leading  apostle  of  the  anti-emancipa- 
tion doctrine  of  Laura  Marholm,  —  the  doctrine 
that  woman  is  but  a  fragmentary  work  of  nature, 
and  needs  to  be  completed  by  the  union  with 

i  Cf.  p.  60. 


WOMEN   WRITERS  281 

man.  Yet  in  spite  of  this  theory,  Viebig  exhibits 
in  her  style  a  rugged,  virile  strength.  In  her 
masterly  village  stories,  Kinder  der  Eifel  ("  Chil- 
dren of  the  Eifel"),  and  in  the  grimly  humorous 
novel  Das  Weiberdorf  ("  A  Women's  Village "), 
she  uncurtains  with  a  pitiless  hand  the  brutali- 
ties of  peasant  life.  Das  tagliche  Brod  ("  Daily 
Bread  ")  is  a  deeply  serious  study  of  the  servant 
problem  under  aspects  which  to  Americans  will 
seem  stranger  than  fiction,  they  are  so  different 
from  our  own.  "  The  Watch  on  the  Rhine "  is  a 
veritable  triumph  of  the  Heimatkunst  ("  regional 
art")  so  assiduously  cultivated  by  the  Germans. 
The  latest  of  Viebig's  literary  performances,  the 
novels  Vom  Mulkrhannes ("  Jack  the  Miller")  and 
Das  schlafende  Heer  ("  The  Sleeping  Army ") 
and  a  dramatic  suite  entitled  Der  Kampf  um 
den  Mann  ("The  Fight  for  a  Man")  — all  three 
published  within  the  last  two  years  —  are  keeping 
her  prominently  before  the  public. 

Though  overshadowed  by  Bohlau  and  Viebig, 
yet  there  are  many  other  forceful  writers  in  the 
younger  generation,  —  women  full  of  indomitable 
energy,  deep  convictions,  in  some  cases  equipped 
with  a  fine  technical  skill.  Only  a  few  of  them 
can  here  be  mentioned. 


282  MODERN  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

Anselm  (Selma)  Heine  is,  like  Helene  Bohlau, 
a  realistic  symbolist  who  likes  to  deal  with  prob- 
lems from  the  artist's  sphere.  She  teaches,  among 
other  things,  that  the  higher  individuality  is  put 
in  jeopardy  by  a  too  congenial  marriage. 

With  a  telling  protest  against  the  ruling  con- 
ventions are  fraught  the  plays  and  stories  of 
Anna  Croissant-Rust  and  those  of  the  unfortu- 
nate Juliana  Dery,  who  sealed  her  dissension 
from  the  accepted  social  code  with  a  tragic  death. 
Emil  Marriot  (Emilie  Mataja)  varies  the  theme 
by  tracing  the  real  "soul"  tragedies  to  religious 
conflicts.  She  is  a  devout  Catholic,  yet  has  a 
predilection  for  the  very  delicate  subject  of  cler- 
ical love  with  which  the  consummate  art  of  Paul 
Heyse  has  dealt  in  Zwei  Gefangene  ("  Two  Pris- 
oners ").  In  the  series  of  short  stories,  Mit  der 
Tonsur  ("  Tonsured  Heads  "),  the  principal  char- 
acters are  priests  who  are  unhappy  through  love. 
Perhaps  the  best  thing  she  has  written  is  the 
stirring  prose  threnody  Der  Geistliche  Tod  ("  A 
Clerical  Death"). 

Marie  Eugenie  delle  Grazie  is  a  poetess  of 
unquestionable  power,  but  lack  of  artistic  disci- 
pline renders  her  unequal  to  the  great  tasks  she 
elects.  In  her  epos  "Robespierre"  —  she  is  one 


WOMEN  WRITERS  283 

of  the  relatively  few  women  who  have  attempted 
epic  poetry — she  demonstrates  that  even  the  most 
terrifying  realism  is  not  proof  against  the  noisy 
sort  of  emotionalism. 

Under  her  pseudonym  of  Leo  Hildeck,  Leo- 
nie  Meyerhof  has  made  a  well-known  name  for 
herself.  In  Wollen  und  Werden  ("  Purpose  and 
Achievement")  the  artist  tragedy  turns  on  the 
discrepancy  between  the  creative  impulse  and 
the  sustaining  capacity  for  work.  Hildeck  is  an 
enthusiastic  Nietzschean,  and  the  prototype  of 
her  Feuersaule  ("  The  Pillar  of  Fire  "),  notwith- 
standing her  express  denial,  can  be  none  other 
than  Max  Stirner,  the  forestaller  of  Nietzsche. 
For  her  entirely  un-German  coldness,  this  writer 
compensates  by  a  rare  constructive  skill. 

Lou  Andreas-Salome,  the  biographer  and  one- 
time friend  of  the  great  poet-philosopher-madman, 
deals  in  a  bold,  broad  manner  with  intricate  psy- 
chological subjects,  such  as  the  baleful  awakening 
from  juvenile  illusions,  dwelling  strongly  on  the 
necessity  for  deep  religious  sentiment. 

The  two  most  promising  among  the  youn- 
gest set  of  German  authoresses  also  follow  un- 
doubtedly in  Nietzsche's  footsteps.  The  youthful 
Sophie  Hoechstetter  is  so  deeply  engrossed  in 


284  MODERN  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

the  propagation  of  the  individualistic  creed  that 
she  has  taken  no  time  to  bestow  great  care  on 
the  form  of  her  writings;  so  her  rebel  pen  does 
not  disdain  the  handy  style  and  methods  of  the 
amusement  novel,  even  though  in  the  interpre- 
tation of  the  master  Zarathustra  she  exhibits  a 
greater  freedom  of  thought  than  most  other 
disciples. 

An  even  more  resolute  agitator  and  by  far  a 
more  convincing  "  realist "  is  Hans  von  Kahlen- 
berg,  whose  real  name  is  Helene  von  Montbart, 
a  young  woman  belonging  to  the  circles  that 
are  styled  Militaradel  ("military  nobility"),  and 
whose  novels  move  accordingly  in  the  higher 
strata  of  German  life.  It  would  not  be  easy  to 
name  a  writer  of  either  sex  so  entirely  unsenti- 
mental as  Hans  von  Kahlenberg,  or  one  with  a 
finer  ear  for  the  hollowness  of  "  official  morality  " 
and  a  keener  eye  for  the  sores  that  eat  their  way 
through  the  German  body  social.  Upon  these 
cancerous  spots  she  advances  composedly  with 
the  surgeon's  blade,  which  she  wields  in  no  gin- 
gerly way  and  without  first  administering  anaes- 
thetics. Though  only  in  the  early  thirties,  she 
is  already  a  master  of  the  naturalistic  method. 
The  crassness  in  the  portrayal  of  her  milieu 


WOMEN  WRITERS  285 

—  e.g.  Die  Familie  Barchwitz  ("  The  Barchwitz 
Family  "),  Die  Sembritzkys  ("  The  Sembritzkys "), 
and  other  novels  —  may  be  easily  condoned,  in 
view  of  her  deep  sympathy  with  the  sufferings 
of  her  people. 

The  enumeration  of  the  authoresses  of  this  com- 
bative Nietzschean  sect  might  be  continued  to 
great  length.  The  aim  of  this  sketch,  however, 
cannot  be  completeness,  but  at  best  an  indication 
of  salient  traits,  and  enough  has  been  said  to  sub- 
stantiate the  statement  made  before  with  regard 
to  the  predominant  influence  of  Nietzsche  on  our 
feminine  literature  of  dissent. 

Two  writers  who  represent  the  high-water  mark 
of  artistic  achievement  by  German  authoresses 
of  the  living  generation  have  been  reserved  to 
the  last.  Neither  can  be  classed  as  a  Nietz- 
schean of  strict  observance,  and  neither  can  be 
called  a  thoroughgoing  realist,  or  a  pedantic 
symbolist.  But  to  elude  classification  is  to  give 
the  sincerest  proof  of  a  self-dependent  artis- 
tic personality.  Isolde  Kurz  and  Ricarda  Huch 
come  well  up  to  the  test.  Not  uninfluenced, 
certainly,  by  great  models,  but  without  looking 
right  or  left  to  schools  and  coteries,  they  have 
made  their  way  to  the  front  rank.  They  are 


286  MODERN  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

artists,  first  and  last,  who  have  learned  to  employ 
the  technical  acquisitions  of  the  modern  school 
for  the  presentment  of  facts  under  their  eternal 
aspect. 

Of  the  two,  Isolde  Kurz  is  perhaps  the  more 
versatile.  She  commands  a  style  which  is  scarcely 
surpassed  by  Paul  Heyse  when  at  his  best.  Her 
poems,  and  in  a  still  higher  degree  her  short 
stories  and  satirical  fairy  tales,  besides  excelling 
in  a  chaste  plastic  beauty  of  language,  win  by 
their  rich  fund  of  ripe  human  wisdom  and  an 
irresistible  humor,  delightful  even  though  spiced 
with  cutting  sarcasm,  of  which  the  reader  him- 
self is  frequently  made  the  mark.  The  extraordi- 
nary strength  of  Kurz's  art  lies  in  its  burrowing 
psychology,  by  which  the  subtlest  qualities  and 
conditions  of  mind  are  brought  to  light.  This 
rare  power  enables  the  writer  to  expose  with  sen- 
suous truthfulness,  "  realistically  "  as  it  were,  the 
world  of  the  unreal.  To  quote  an  example,  the 
story  Mittagsgespenst  ("A  Midday  Specter")  re- 
produces with  great  vividness  a  weird  daydream 
of  a  mediaeval  city  in  the  full  fierceness  of  its  tem- 
pestuous life.  Italian  life,  especially  that  of  the 
Renaissance,  has  the  same  charm  for  Isolde  Kurz 
that  it  exercised  on  her  great  teacher,  Conrad 


WOMEN  WRITERS  287 

Ferdinand  Meyer.  Her  most  serious  contributions 
to  letters,  besides  a  small  volume  of  exquisite 
lyrics,  are  two  collections  of  short  stories:  Flo- 
rentiner  Novellen  ("  Short  Stories  of  Florence  ") 
and  Italienische  Erzahlungen  ("  Italian  Tales  "). 

Of  still  greater  artistic  significance  is  the  work 
of  Ricarda  Huch.  It  detracts  in  no  wise  from  the 
marvelous  originality  of  her  art  that  it  has  been 
influenced  by  Gottfried  Keller  and  Conrad  Fer- 
dinand Meyer,  and  that  it,  too,  has  been  electri- 
fied by  a  spark  from  Nietzsche's  wayward  genius. 
The  last-mentioned  influence  is  recognized  in  her 
favorite  heroes.  They  are  the  Lebenskunstler, 
the  past  masters  of  the  art  of  living,  modern 
Renaissance  men  and  women  with  a  capacity 
for  translating  great  emotions  into  action.  Huch, 
at  the  age  of  thirty-eight,  is  the  author  of  fifteen 
books  comprising  two  metrical  plays,  two  collec- 
tions of  critical  essays,  a  historical  study,  a  book 
of  poems,  and  nine  volumes  of  fiction.  All  of 
these  are  works  of  intrinsic  value.  Her  chief  title 
to  fame,  however,  still  reposes  on  Erinnerungen 
von  Ludolf  Ursleu  dem  Jungeren  ("  Recollections 
of  Ludolf  Ursleu  the  Younger"),  a  book  full  of 
the  indefinable  charm  exhaled  only  by  what  the 
French  call  une  ceuvre  de  longue  haleine ;  one  of 


288  MODERN   GERMAN   LITERATURE 

those  rare  books,  that  is  to  say,  which  draw  the 
reader  into  the  very  mood  in  which  they  were 
conceived  and  sustain  him  in  it.  The  novelist 
whose  unerring  art  has  given  him  supreme  power 
of  this  sort  is  Thackeray.  By  virtue  of  their  tem- 
peramental consistency,  Pendennis,  Henry  Esmond, 
The  Newcomes,  are  unsurpassable  models.  Du 
Maurier's  Trilby  owes  its  unquestionable  value  to 
close  and  successful  study  of  those  great  models. 
Among  living  writers,  Pierre  Loti  and  Maurice 
Maeterlinck,  by  an  almost  hypnotic  power,  com- 
municate to  the  reader  their  own  minor-key  temper 
of  mind.  Ricarda  Huch  attains  similar  effects 
without  the  aid  of  chiaroscuro.  At  least  in  Ursleu 
and  Aus  der  Triumphgasse  ("Stories  from  Tri- 
umph Lane")  she  draws  in  the  broad  light  of  her 
own  day.  As  a  rule,  however,  she  makes  the  color 
perfection  of  her  picture  stand  forth  more  dis- 
tinctly by  incasing  it  in  an  artistic  frame  of  chaste 
design.  It  is  no  easy  matter  to  adapt,  as  Huch 
has  done,  the  style  of  an  old  chronicle  to  a  recital 
of  contemporaneous  events.  But  Huch's  vigorous 
art  does  not  choose  the  line  of  least  resistance. 
Altogether  she  compels  the  highest  admiration 
for  her  firm  conscientiousness  in  squaring  her- 
self with  technical  difficulties  and  exacting  from 


WOMEN  WRITERS  289 

herself  heroic  tasks.  It  is  characteristic,  perhaps, 
that  her  most  ambitious  works  are  by  far  her 
best.  Whereas  the  short  stories  fall  appreciably 
below  the  high  standard  by  which  her  superlative 
art  deserves  to  be  marked,  her  two  master  novels, 
by  virtue  of  their  flawless  structure,  excel  even 
Keller's  famous  Der  grune  Heinrich  ("  Green 
Henry")  and  take  elevated  rank  with  the  lofty 
achievement  of  Conrad  Ferdinand  Meyer's  imper- 
ishable prose  epics. 

The  "Memories  of  Ursleu"  purports  to  be  writ- 
ten in  cloistered  solitude  by  the  sole  representative 
of  a  headstrong  race  whose  members,  notwithstand- 
ing their  imperious  vital  instincts,  are  doomed  to 
self-destruction  by  their  unbending  will.  In  the 
unraveling  of  the  plot  a  most  skillful  use  is  made 
of  episode,  for  the  double  purpose  of  enlarging 
the  historical  vista  and,  at  the  same  time,  mak- 
ing the  private  tragedy  stand  out  in  bold  relief 
against  the  general  calamity.  The  action  passes  in 
the  republic  of  Hamburg  during  the  cholera  epi- 
demic of  less  than  twenty  years  ago.  The  plague  is 
not  broadly  pictured  as  in  Manzoni's  /  Promessi 
Sposi;  rather  with  the  delicate  discretion  used 
by  Boccaccio  in  the  framing  of  the  Decamerone. 
The  "  Band  of  the  Holy  Life,"  into  which  young 


290  MODERN  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

patricians  of  both  sexes  form  themselves  in  order 
to  vindicate  amid  the  surrounding  horrors  of  death 
the  joy  of  living,  serves  as  a  symbol  for  the  chief 
tenet  in  Ricarda  Huch's  philosophy:  life  is  not 
worth  living  without  the  illusions;  hence  let  us 
cling  to  the  illusions.  No  need  of  saying  that 
Ricarda  Huch  is  not  a  "  realist "  in  the  pedantic 
acceptation  of  the  term.  Yet  she  knows  well  how 
to  reproduce  the  milieu  of  the  patrician  life  as 
well  as — in  Aus  der  Triumphgasse — of  the  slums ; 
and  she  possesses  the  highest  credential  of  her 
art — style.  Le  style  cest — this  time — lafemme! 
Huch's  is  a  personality  with  apparently  unlimited 
possibilities  of  inward  experience  and  a  coexten- 
sive power  of  articulation, — herself  a  member 
of  the  "  Band  of  the  Holy  Life,"  with  a  pas- 
sionate desire  to  taste  of  the  choicest  dishes  at 
the  banquet  of  life.  Unersattlich  ("  Insatiable  ") 
is  one  of  her  finest  poems  which  gives  adequate 
expression  to  this  longing. 

Ganz  mit  Friihling  und  Sonnenstrahl, 
Klang  und  duftendem  BliitenguC 
Mein  verlangendes  Herz  einmal 
Full'  mir,  seliger  Uberflufi ! 

Gib  mir  ewiger  Jugend  Glanz, 
Gib  mir  ewigen  Lebens  Kraft, 


WOMEN  WRITERS  291 

Gib  im  fliichtigen  Stundentanz 
Ewig  wirkende  Leidenschaft ! 

Aus  dem  Meere  des  Wissens  laC 
Satt  mich  trinken  in  tiefem  Zug  ! 
Gib  von  Liebe  und  gib  von  Hafi 
Meiner  Seele  einmal  genug. 

With  this  cursory  characterization  of  the  most 
important  German  women  writers  of  the  hour  this 
sketch  may  be  concluded.  It  goes  without  saying 
that  many  deserving  books  have  necessarily  been 
left  undiscussed,  and  that  of  many  well-known  auth- 
oresses even  the  names  could  not  be  mentioned. 
To  furnish  a  handy  reference  catalogue  was  not 
the  reviewer's  ambition,  and  an  appreciation  of 
writers  like  Klaus  Rittland,  Hermine  Villinger, 
Charlotte  Niese,  Elsbeth  Meyer-Forster,  Richard 
Nordmann,  etc.,  or  even  the  terse  and  forceful  Use 
Frapan,  would  neither  have  affected  the  general 
estimate  nor  made  a  perceptible  change  in  the  line 
of  development  as  traced.  The  same  consider- 
ation justifies  the  omission  of  Bertha  von  Sutt- 
ner's  Die  Waffen  nieder!  ("Down  with  Arms!"), 
which  owes  the  international  applause  bestowed 
upon  it  solely  to  its  humane  sentiment.  The 
book,  it  will  be  remembered,  is  a  plea  for  gen- 
eral disarmament.  Its  literary  value  is  slight.  The 


292  MODERN  GERMAN   LITERATURE 

chronological  limit  of  the  theme  precludes  more 
than  passing  reference  to  the  so-called  "Vera"  lit- 
erature, which  has  rapidly  crystallized  round  the 
recent  anonymous  diary  of  a  young  Viennese  girl 
who  announces  herself  in  the  title,  Eine  fur  Viele 
("One  for  Many")  as  the  spokeswoman  of  a 
numerous  class;  to  the  Baroness  von  Heyking's 
Brief e,  die  ihn  nicht  erreichten  ("  Letters  that  did 
not  reach  him  "),  and  many  other  books.  It  may 
be  of  some  interest  to  know  that  Ernst  Georgy's 
Die  Berliner Range •("  The  Berlin  Hobbledehoy"), 
a  phenomenally  popular  series  of  cheap-grade  fun- 
books,  comes  from  the  pen  of  a  woman. 

The  writers  here  considered  have  been,  with 
very  few  exceptions,  novelists.  This  is  natural 
enough,  since  in  the  field  of  the  prose  epic,  which 
throughout  the  nineteenth  century  has  been  the 
most  diligently  worked  of  all  literary  fields,  the 
authoresses  have,  as  a  rule,  exercised  their  talents. 
In  the  other  literary  genera  they  have  produced 
relatively  little  that  counts  for  much  in  the  his- 
tory of  literature.  Lyrists  we  have  in  plenty,  and 
a  number  of  them  are  worthy  of  praise,  as,  for  in- 
stance, Anna  Ritter,  Agnes  Miegel,  Mia  Holm, 
Alberta  von  Puttkamer,  Thekla  Lingen,  etc.  But, 
outside  of  the  women  lyrists  who  have  been 


WOMEN  WRITERS  293 

discussed,  it  would  be  difficult  to  mention  any 
whose  verse  rings  full  and  true,  and  sounds  the  note 
of  a  deep  poetic  conscientiousness.  Certainly  we 
cannot  pay  this  tribute  to  Johanna  Ambrosius, 
about  whose  sympathetic  songs  so  much  ado  has 
been  made.  She  is  a  plain,  sensible  peasant  woman 
whom  Professor  Weiss- Schrattenthal,  the  benevo- 
lent patron  of  aspiring  authoresses,  had  the  ques- 
tionable taste  to  dress  out  as  a  species  of  German 
Sappho  and  to  have  presented  to  the  public  by  her 
East  Prussian  countryman  Sudermann.  Thirty- 
six  editions  of  her  poems  were  exhausted  in  four 
years,  yet  even  that  phenomenal  book-trade  suc- 
cess will  not  keep  her  memory  alive.  Ambrosius 
has  clearly  been  overrated.  She  has  opened  to 
view  a  soul-life  of  great  depth,  but  of  inconsid- 
erable compass.  And  she  is  too  well  read  in 
devotional  books  and  family  magazines  to  have 
preserved  the  refreshing  spontaneity  of  a  genuine 
singer  of  the  people.  Lyric  qualities  of  a  much 
higher  order  belong  to  Marie  Madeleine,  who  is 
unfortunately  the  most  brazenly  unabashed  of  all 
modern  verse  writers. 

In  the  province  of  the  drama  the  successors 
of  Birch-Pfeiffer  have  not  made  many  brilliant 
conquests.  Of  living  women  dramatists,  Elsa 


294  MODERN  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

Bernstein,  who  writes  under  the  assumed  name 
Ernst  Rosmer,  is  the  only  one  who  has  won  real 
distinction.  The  singularly  happy  combination 
of  realism  and  romanticism  in  her  fairy  piece, 
Die  Konigskinder  (" The  Royal  Children")  (1895), 
has  done  much  to  establish  the  reign  of  the  Mar- 
chendrama  ushered  in  by  Hauptmann  and  Fulda. 

On  the  whole,  women  have  shown  a  certain 
ineptitude,  or  it  may  be  only  a  reluctance,  to 
essay  literature  under  the  restrictions  of  definite 
form,  and  have  exhibited  a  leaning  towards  the 
less  exacting  prose  narrative.  And,  as  a  class, 
women  novelists  have  their  pronounced  failings. 
They  are  found  lacking  in  the  calm  objectiveness 
that  flows  from  historic  consciousness,  and  in  a 
well-balanced  sense  of  personality.  Likewise,  we 
feel  strongly,  in  their  interpretation  of  detached 
facts  of  life,  the  absence  of  a  controlling  philoso- 
phy; simple  truths  they  grasp  quickly  enough, 
but  too  readily  erect  them  uncemented  into  a 
system. 

I  have  not  been  able  to  speak  of  the  Ger- 
man authoress  of  the  nineteenth  century  with 
full-blown  eulogy.  However,  the  reader  has  not 
failed  to  observe  in  her  story  the  marks  of  an 
up-grade  movement  calculated  to  disarm  the 


WOMEN  WRITERS  295 

pessimist.  It  is  certainly  a  fact  from  which  women 
ambitious  for  their  sex  may  derive  much  gratifi- 
cation, that  one  cannot  name  the  foremost  living 
writers  of  Germany  without  including  several 
women. 

And  as  for  the  vexed  problem  that  springs  into 
view  every  time  the  woman  question  comes  up  in 
literary  criticism :  Is  woman  excluded  by  natural 
limitations  from  the  higher  realms  of  creative 
art?  I  might  answer:  Ricarda  Huch!  ...  to  be 
told,  probably,  that  one  swallow  does  not  make  a 
summer.  So  again,  as  at  the  outset,  I  ask  permis- 
sion to  leave  the  question  open.  It  was  not  the 
object  of  this  sketch  to  prove  a  thesis,  but  rather 
to  trace  a  development,  and  to  describe  the 
resultant  situation. 


INDEX 


BY  PAUL  REIFF,  PH.D. 

Instructor  in  German,   Washington  University 


Alberti,  C.,  139. 
Ambrosius,  Johanna,  293. 
Amiel,  Journal  intime,  no. 
Andreas-Salome,  Lou,  283. 
d'Annunzio,  Gabriele,  248. 
Anzengruber,  L.,  138. 
Das  Vierte  Gebot,  37. 
Apostel,  Der.     See  Hauptmann. 
Arme  Heinrich,  Der.     See  Haupt- 
mann. 

Arnim,  Bettina  von,  238. 
Auerbach,  Berthold,  138,  251. 

Bahn-wdrter    Thiel.     See    Haupt- 
mann. 

Bashkirtseff,  Marie,  278. 
Bastien-Lepage,  J.,  278. 
Bernhardt,  Sarah,  53. 
Bernstein,  E.     See  Rosmer. 
Bete  humaine.     See  Zola. 
Biberpeh,  Der.     See  Hauptmann. 
Birch-Pfeiffer,  C.,  250,  254,  293. 
Bjbrnson,  Bjornstjeme,  108. 
Bleibtreu,  K.,  175. 
Boccaccio,  Decamerone,  289. 
Bocklin,  A.,  180,  205. 
Bohlau,   Helene,  237,   273,   274- 
279,  280,  281,  282. 

Das  Recht  der  Mutter,  274. 

Der  Rangierbahnhof,  278. 

Halbtier,  274. 
Borne,  Ludwig,  9. 
Brachmann,  Luise,  234. 
Briefe    die   ihn    nicht   erreichten, 

292. 

Biichner,  L.,  160. 
Bulthaupt,  H.,  53. 
Bunte  Buck,  Das.  See  Hauptmann. 


Burow,  Julie,  240. 
Byron,  133. 

Campbell,  Mrs.  Patrick,  52. 
Cellini,  Benvenuto,  207. 
Christen,  Ada,  Echte  Wiener,  264. 

Lieder  einer  Verlorenen,  263. 
Churchill,    Winston,    The    Crisis, 

17,  253- 

Coriolanus.     See  Shakespeare. 
Croissant-Rust,  Anna,  282. 

Dahn,  Felix,  59. 

Darwin,  146. 

Dery,  Juliana,  282. 

Dickens,  251,  257. 

Dincklage,  Emmy  von,  257. 

Drei  Reiherfedern,  Die.  See  Suder- 

mann. 
Droste-Hiilshoff,     Annette     von, 

246-247,  248. 

Ebner-Eschenbach,     Marie     von, 
259-261,  262. 

Ekre,  Die.     See  Sudermann. 

Eichendorff,  180. 

Einsame  Menschcn.     See  Haupt- 
mann. 

Eliot,  George,  232,  251. 

The  Mill  on  the  Floss,  277. 

Emerson,  269. 

Es  lebe  das  Leben.     See    Suder- 
mann. 

Es  war.     See  Sudermann. 

Evangelienbuch,  3. 

Ewig-Mannliche,  Das.  See  Suder- 
mann. 

Faust.     See  Goethe. 


297 


298 


MODERN  GERMAN   LITERATURE 


Faust,    the     Third    Part    of   the 

Tragedy.     See  Vischer. 
Fels,  Egon,  257. 

Florian  Geyer.     See  Hauptmann. 
Fontane,  Theodor,  14. 
Fouque,  F.  de  la  Motte,  180. 
Franfois,  Luise  von,  258,  259,  261. 

Die  letzte  Reckenburgerin,  258. 
Frapan,  Use,  291. 
Frau  Sorge.     See  Sudermann. 
Freie  Biihne,  134. 
Freiligrath,  F.,  4. 
Freytag,  Gustav,  4,  59. 

Die  Journalisten,  38. 
Friedensfest,Das.  See  Hauptmann. 
Fritzchen.     See  Sudermann. 
Fuhrmann  Henschel.    See  Haupt- 
mann. 
Fulda,  L.,  66,  168,  294. 

Der  Talisman,  78,  167. 

Galen-Gube,  Else,  263. 

Gartenlaube,  Die,  253,  272. 

Geibel,  4. 

Georgy,  Die  Berliner  Range,  292. 

Gerstacker,  F.,  4. 

Geschichte  einer  stillen  Miihle.  See 

Sudermann. 

Geschwister,  Die.  See  Sudermann. 
Gliick  im  Winkel,  Das.     See  Su- 
dermann. 

Gliimer,  Claire  von,  257. 
Goethe,  3,  4,  9,  146,  186,  204,  274. 

Die  natiirliche  Tochter,  66. 

Die  Wahlverwandtschaften,  18. 

Faust,  9,  125,  172,  192,  193. 

Giitz  von  Berlichingen,  175. 

Torquato  Tasso,  66. 

Wilhelm  Meister,  33. 
Gottfried  von  Strassburg,  3. 
Grazie,  M.  E.  delle,  282. 

Robespierre,  282. 
Grillparzer,  F.,  4,  10,  168. 
Gutzkow,  K.,  174,  244. 

Hacklander,  F.  W.,  4. 
Haeckel,  Ernst,  146. 
Hahn-Hahn,  Ida,  Countess,  241- 
215,  265. 


Aus  der  Gesellschaft,  242. 
Hanke,  Henriette,  234. 
Hannele.     See  Hauptmann. 
Hansel  und  Gretel.     See  Humper- 

dinck. 

Hartmann  von  Aue,  219,  221. 
Hauff,  W.,  4. 
Hauptmann,  Gerhart,  4,  5,  6,  23, 

119-129,  130  ff.  (life),  294. 
Bahnwarter     Thiel,     158-161, 

196. 

Das  bunte  Buck,  133. 
Das  Friedensfest,  140-144,  156. 
Der  Apostel,  158,  160-161. 
Der  arme  Heinrich,  81,  218- 

224. 
Der   Biberpelz,    123,    129,    166, 

210-214,  215,  216,  218. 
Der  rote  Hahn,  166,  210,  215- 

218. 
Die    versunkene    Glocke   ("The 

Sunken  Bell"),  78,  123,  124, 

129,  147,  166,  180-195,  196, 

199. 
Die    Weber  ("The   Weavers"), 

123,  149-156,  157,  158,  173, 

175,  178,  195,  196,  210,  224, 

225. 
Einsame   Menschen,   123,   144- 

149,  156,  224. 

Florian  Geyer,  175-179,  195. 
Fuhrmann  Henschel,   129,   130, 

195-198,  209,  225. 
Hannele,    124,    128,    166-174, 

180,  196,  210,  222,  223,  225. 
Kollege    Grampian,    128,    161- 

165. 
Michael  Kramer,  129, 202-209, 

225. 

Promethidenlos,  132,  200. 
Rose  Bernd,  129, 158,  224-226. 
Schluck  und  Jau,  199-202,  210, 

215,  223. 
Vor    Sonnenaufgang,    37,    124, 

134-138,  140,  157,  173,  224. 
Hebbel,  F.,  4. 

A  Tragedy  in  Sicily,  215. 
Heimat.     See  Sudermann. 
Heimatkunst,  199,  281. 


INDEX 


299 


Heimburg,  W.,  17,  272. 

Heine,  Anselm,  282. 

Heine,  H.,  4,  9,  133,  237,  243. 

He  Hand,  3. 

Heyse,  Paul,  4,  286. 

Merlin,  193. 

Zwei  Gefangene,  282. 
Hildeck,  Leo,  Feuersdule,  283. 

Wollen  und  Werden,  283. 
Hillern,  Wilhelmine  von,  254. 
Hoechstetter,  Sophie,  283. 
Holm,  Mia,  292. 

Holmsen,   Bjame  P.   (pseud,  for 
Amo     Holz    and     Johannes 
Schlaf),  Papa  Hamlet,  134. 
Holz,  Arno,  133,  134,  166,  195. 
Homer,  4. 

Howells,  W.  D.,  235. 
Huch,  Ricarda,  277,  285, 287-291, 
295. 

A  us  der  Triumphgasse,  288. 

Erinnerungen  von  LudolfUrsleu 

dem  Jiingeren,  287,  288,  289. 
Hugo,  Victor,  251. 
Humperdinck,    E.,    Hansel    und 
Gretel,  167. 

Ibsen,  H.,  14,  100,  108. 

Ghosts,  38. 

Rosmersholm,  146. 

When  We  Dead  Awake,  279. 
Im  Zwielicht.     See  Sudermann. 
lolanthes   Hochzeit.      See    Suder- 
mann. 

Janitschek,  Maria,  263,  266-267. 
Johannes.     See  Suderman. 
Johannisfeuer.     See  Sudermann. 
Jordan,  Wilhelm,  262. 
Julius  Casar.     See  Shakespeare. 
Junghans,  Sophie,  257. 
Junker,  Emilie,  257. 

Kahlenberg,  Hans  von  (pseud,  for 
Helene  von    Montbart),  Die 
Familie  Barchwitz,  285. 
Die  Sembritzkys,  285. 

Kapff-Essenther,  E.,  272. 

Katzensteg,  Der.    See  Sudermann, 


Keller,  Gottfried,  4,  287. 

Der  griine  Heinrich,  289. 
Keyser,  H.,  272. 
Kipling,  R.,  159. 
Kleist,  Heinrich  von,  4. 

Der  zerbrochene  Krug,  210. 
Klopstock,  3. 
Kollege   Grampian.      See    Haupt- 

mann. 

Korner,  Theodor,  4. 
Kudrun,  3. 
Kurz,  Isolde,  285,  286-287. 

Florentiner  Novellen,  287. 

Italienische  Erzahlungen,  287. 

Mittagsgespenst,  286. 

Lamprecht,  K.,  195. 

ISAssommoir.     See  Zola. 

La  Terre.     See  Zola. 

Laube,  H.,  244. 

Lebensfrage,  Eine.     See  Lewald. 

Lenau,  N.,  4. 

Lessing,  3,  9. 

Nathan  the  Wise,  105. 
Lewald,  Fanny,  239,  241, 245-246. 

Eine  Lebensfrage,  246. 
Lingen,  Thekla,  292. 
Longfellow,   The  Golden   Legend, 

218. 
Loti,  Pierre,  288. 

Madeleine,  Marie,  263,  293. 

Auf  Kypros,  263. 
Maeterlinck,  Maurice,  288. 
Marchendrama,  65,  167,  168,  294. 
Magda.     See  Sudermann. 
Manzoni,    A.,    /  Promessi   Sposi, 

289. 

Marholm,  Laura,  280. 
Marlitt,  E.,  4,  255-257,  259,  272. 
Marriot,  Emil,  Der  Geistliche  Tod, 

282. 

Mit  der  Tonsur,  282. 
Mendes,  Catulle,  76. 
Meyer,  C.  F.,  287,  289. 
Meyer,  R.  M.,  201,  202. 
Meyer-Forster,  Elsbeth,  291. 
Meyerbeer,  Z' ' Africaine,  87. 
Meyerhof,  Leonie.     See  Hildeck. 


300 


MODERN   GERMAN   LITERATURE 


Meysenbug,   Malwida    von,    258- 

259,  261. 
Michael    Kramer.      See     Haupt- 

mann. 

Miegel,  Agnes,  292. 
"  Moderne,  Die,"  4,  10. 
Moliere,  65. 

Morituri.     See  Sudermann. 
Morris,  William,  60. 
Miihlbach,  Luise,  249-250,  255. 
Frederick    the     Great    and    his 

Court,  249. 

Nathan  the  Wise.     See  Lessing. 

Nathusius,  Marie,  Tagebuch  eines 
armen  Frduleins,  246. 

Naturalism,  120,  127. 

Nibelungenlied,  3. 

Niese,  Charlotte,  291. 

Nietzsche,  Friedrich,  26,  40,  113, 
155,  227,  245,  259,  267,  270, 
274,  275,  276,  283,  285. 

Nordmann,  Richard,  291. 

Paoli,  Betty,  248,  263,  264. 
Papa  Hamlet.     See  Holmsen. 
Polko,  Elise,  17,  266. 
Power    of   Darkness,    The.      See 

Tolstoi. 

Preuschen,  Hermione  von,  267. 
Prevost,  Marcel,  76. 
Prisoner  of  Zenda,  The,  17. 
Promethidenlos.    See  Hauptmann. 
Puttkamer,  Alberta  von,  292. 

Raimund,  Ferd.,  168,  172. 
Raimund,  Golo,  257. 
Realism,  134. 

Regina.     See  Katzensteg,  Der. 
Reuter,  Fritz,  4,  24,  138. 

Ut  mine  Strom  tid,  14. 
Reuter,  Gabriele,  273-274. 

Aus  guter  Familie,  273. 
Ritter,  Anna,  292. 
Rittland,  Klaus,  291. 
Rives-Chanler,  Amelie,  266. 
Robbers,  The.     See  Schiller. 
Roman    experimental,    Le.      See 
Zola. 


Romantics,  9,  167. 

Rose  Bernd.     See  Hauptmann. 

Rosegger,  Peter,  138. 

Rosmer,  Ernst,  Die  Kbnigskinder, 

294. 
Rote  Hahn,  Der.    See  Hauptmann. 

Sachs,  Hans,  77. 

Sand,  George,  232,  239,  247,  251, 

264. 

Scheffel,  Jos.  Victor  von,  4. 
Scherer,  Wilhelm,  5. 
Schiller,  4,  9,  155,  178,  235,  237. 

The  Robbers,  1 55. 
Schlaf,  Johannes,  134,  166. 
Schluckundjau.  See  Hauptmann. 
Schmetterlingsschlacht,   Die.     See 

Sudermann. 
Schobert,  H.,  272. 
Schubin,  Ossip,  263, 264-265,  267. 
Schiicking,  L.,  251. 
Shakespeare,  4,  127. 
Coriolanus,  178. 
Julius  C<Esar,  178. 
The  Taming  of  the  Shrew,  200. 
St.  Simon,  Duke  of,  239. 
Sodoms  Ende.     See  Sudermann. 
Sorma,  Agnes,  186. 
Spattgen,  D.  von,  272,  277. 
Spielhagen,  F.,  4,  109. 
Spindler,  K.,  251. 
Stimer,  Max,  283. 
Stoss,  Veit,  207. 
Strindberg,  August,  76. 
Sturmgeselle    Sokrates,  Der.     See 

Sudermann. 

Sudermann,  Hermann,  4,  5,  6-13, 
13-14  (life),  16,  17,  19,  107- 
115,  123,  293. 
Das    Ewig-Mdnnliche,    65-67, 

78. 

Das  Gliick  im  Winkel,  53-56. 
Der  Katzensteg,  19-28,  106. 
Der  Sturmgeselle  Sokrates,  83, 

108-107,  114. 

Die  drei  Reiherfedern,  77-83. 
Die  Ehre,   \z,    13,   19,   28,  30- 
37,  41,  45,  46,  49,  57,  58,  86, 
92,  113. 


INDEX 


301 


Die  Geschwister,  17. 

Die    Schmetterlingsschlacht,    8, 

56-59,  86. 

Es  lebe  das  Leben,  26,  92-101. 
Es  war,  25-27,  28. 
Frau  Sorge,  14-16,  28. 
Fritzchen,  63-65,  67. 
Geschichte  einerstillenMuhle,  1 7. 
Heimat  ("Magda"),  28,  45-53, 

56,92,  113. 
Im  Zwielicht,  14. 
lolanthes  Hochzeit,  23-25. 
Johannes,  68-77,  114. 
Johannisfeuer,  83-92. 
Morituri,  59. 
Sodoms  Ende,  28,  29,  37-45,  86, 

114. 

Teja,  23,  59-63,  67,  114. 
Suttner,  Bertha  von,  Die   Waffen 

nieder  !  291. 
Sylva,  Carmen,  262,  263. 

Tagebuch  eines  armen  Frauleins. 
See  Nathusius. 

Talisman,  Der.     See  Fulda. 

Taming  of  the  Shrew,  The.  See 
Shakespeare. 

Teja.     See  Sudermann. 

Thackeray,  in,  288. 

Tieck,  L.,  180. 

Tolstoi,  L.,  The  Power  of  Dark- 
ness, 137. 

Tristan  und  Isolde,  233. 

Turgenieff,  I.,  265. 

Uber  Land  und  Meer,  253. 

Uhland,  L.,  4. 

Ut  mineStromtid.  See  Fritz  Reuter. 


Versunkene     Glocke,    Die.       See 

Hauptmann. 
Viebig,  Clara,  280-281. 
Villinger,  Hermine,  291. 
Vischer,  Friedrich  Theodor,  Faust, 

the  Third  Part  of  the  Tragedy, 

9- 
Vor  Sonnenaufgang.     See  Haupt- 


Wagner,  Richard,  155,  227,  259. 
Wahlverwandtschaften,  Die.     See 

Goethe. 

Weavers,  The.     See  Hauptmann. 
Weber,  Die.     See  Hauptmann. 
Werner,  E.,  4,  257. 
Wette,  Adelheid,  167. 
Wheeler  Wilcox,  Ella,  266. 
Wilbrandt,  A.,  4. 
Wildenbruch,  E.  von,  4. 

Heinrich    und    Heinrichs     Ge- 

schlecht,  179. 

Wildermuth,  Ottilie,  17,  266. 
Wolfram  von  Eschenbach,  3. 
Wolzogen,  E.  von,  Die  Kinder 

der  Excellenz,  45. 
Woodbridge,  Elizabeth,  177. 

Young  Germany,  9,  239,  241,  246, 

249,  254. 
Youngest  Germany,  10,  130,  272. 

Zimmermann,  Alfred,  151. 
Zola,  Emile,  158. 

Bite  humaine,  159. 

L?  Assommoir,  137. 

La  Terre,  137. 

Le  Roman  experimental,  121. 


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Rosegger:   Waldheimat.    (Fossler) 35  .40 

Schiller  and  Goethe :  Correspondence  (Selections).     (Robertson)     .     .        .60  .65 

Schucking :  Die  drei  Freier.    (Heller) 30  -35 

Seeligmann  :  Altes  und  Neues 35  .40 

Seume  :  Mein  Leben.     (Senger) 40  .45 

Storm  :  Geschichten  aus  der  Tonne.     (Brusie) 4°  -45 

Storm :  Immensee.     (Minckwitz  and  Wilder) 3°  -35 

Storm  :  In  St.  Jurgen.     (Beckmann) 35  .40 

Super :  Elementary  German  Reader 4°  -45 

Thiergen  :  Am  deutschen  Herde.     (Cutting) 

Van  Daell :  Preparatory  German  Reader 4°  -45 

Von  Sybel :  Die  Erhebung  Europas  gegen  Napoleon  I.    (Nichols)  .     .        .40  .45 

Zschokke  :  Der  zerbrochene  Krug.     (Sanbom) 25  .3° 

SPANISH 

Gald6s :  Dona  Perfecta.    (Marsh) i.oo  i.io 

Gil  y  Zarate  :  Guzman  el  Bueno.     (Primer) 75  .80 

Moratfn :  El  S(  de  las  Ninas.     (Ford) 5°  -55 

Valera:  El  Pajaro  Verde.     (Brownell) 4°  -45 


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Sand  :  La  Famille  de  Germandre.     (Kimball) 30  .35 

Sand:  La  Mare  au  Diable.     (Gregor) 35  .4° 

Se'vigne',  Madame  de :  Letters  of.     (Harrison) 50  .55 

Van  Daell:  Introduction  to  French  Authors 50  .55 

Van  Daell:  Introduction  to  the  French  Language i.oo  i.io 

Van  Steenderen :  French  Exercises 15  -2° 


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UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY,  LOS  ANGELES 

COLLEGE  LIBRARY 

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2  6  1967 


TTD  cot.  tm  _ 

If  ny  135  3 

HAY  1  3  1968 


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J?£CT 


DEC  2 

ECT>  COt.  Cm. 

FEB2  -,  " 


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JAN  10 1970 


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